Chapter 10
The sun began to set, casting long, sharp shadows across the manicured lawns of the Valenti estate, though the cinematic lighting inside the mansion remained bright and flawless. Maisie was finally asleep, the pain medication allowing her small body to rest. A fresh, clean bandage covered her brow, and the swelling had been treated with specialized cold compresses.
Roman stood by her bedside for a long time, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of her breathing. He gently brushed a strand of fair hair from her face, his heavy signet ring gleaming softly in the dim light of the nursery.
"She will make a full recovery, Mr. Valenti," the lead doctor whispered respectfully from the doorway. "There is no permanent damage to the orbital bone or the eye itself."
"Thank you, Doctor," Roman murmured softly, not taking his eyes off his daughter. "You will remain on the estate until I tell you otherwise."
"Of course, sir."
Roman quietly exited the nursery, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Two heavily armed guards took their positions outside the room, their faces set in grim determination.
Roman walked down the long corridor toward his private study. Vincent was waiting for him outside the doors.
"The prisoners are secured in the south wing holding cells, Boss," Vincent reported in a low voice. "They have been stripped of all communications. They are completely isolated."
"Good," Roman said, stepping into his study. The room was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves and illuminated by bright, modern task lighting. He walked over to his massive desk and poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a crystal tumbler. He didn't drink it; he just held the glass, letting the cold condensation chill his tattooed fingers.
"Vincent," Roman said slowly, looking out the massive window at the darkening sky. "Gavin is arrogant... but he is not stupid. He would not have struck my child... unless he believed... my retaliation would be neutralized."
Vincent’s fair face paled slightly as he understood the implication. "You think he has outside backing? A rival family?"
"I think," Roman whispered, his eyes narrowing into cold, predatory slits, "that the Chicago syndicate... has been whispering in my mother's ear. They have been looking for a weakness in my armor. They thought... they could use my own blood... to break me."
He set the glass down on the desk with a sharp, definitive clack. The charming, romantic movie star was entirely gone, replaced by the apex predator of the American underworld.
"Assemble the capos," Roman commanded, his voice a low, vibrating hum of pure, concentrated violence. "Lock down the ports, freeze all external accounts, and arm every soldier on the payroll. We are not waiting for Chicago to make the next move."
"We are going to war, Boss?" Vincent asked, a fierce loyalty burning in his eyes.
May you like
"We are going... to eradicate them," Roman replied, adjusting the cuffs of his unbuttoned shirt. "They wanted to see... if I would bleed for my family. Tomorrow... I will show them... how much blood... I am willing to spill."
The die was cast, and Roman Valenti walked out of his study, preparing to plunge the entire city into a relentless, inescapable darkness to protect the light of his life.
