Chapter 7
"She’s been routing the cash through dummy corporations right back into the city," Marcus revealed, swallowing hard. "Roman... she’s been secretly funding the Petrov syndicate."
The room went completely still. The Petrovs were their deadliest, most brutal rivals on the East Coast—the very syndicate that had ambushed Roman three years ago, putting him in the coma that allowed his mother to orchestrate her lies.
"She funded the Petrovs," Roman repeated, his voice dropping to a freezing, barely audible whisper. The sheer, apocalyptic magnitude of the betrayal echoed in the opulent room. His own mother hadn't just stolen his family; she had financed the enemies who tried to kill him.
"That’s not all, Boss," Marcus continued, the panic in his voice rising despite his disciplined training. "There are payment schedules here. Large, lump-sum transfers made every quarter. The last payment went out two days ago. And it came with a specialized delivery contract."
"What kind of contract?" Roman demanded, his fingers tightening around the edge of his mahogany desk so hard his knuckles turned white beneath his fair skin.
"A hit squad, Roman," Marcus said bluntly. "She paid them for a targeted assassination. She gave them an address. It's an apartment building in the narrows. A studio apartment on the fourth floor."
Nora stood up so fast she nearly dropped Sophie. Her fair skin turned the color of chalk, all the rosy warmth vanishing in an instant.
"Roman," Nora gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "That's our apartment. That's where we live."
Roman’s cold, sharp eyes snapped toward her. The pieces of Helena’s psychotic plan finally assembled themselves in his mind. Helena hadn't just intercepted them at the gala to be cruel. She had panicked because Nora and Sophie were supposed to be dead tonight.
"Secure the perimeter of the estate," Roman ordered Marcus, his volume incredibly low, speaking with absolute, lethal control. "Put every man on high alert. No one enters or leaves. Bring me the armory keys."
"Yes, Boss. We're locking it down now," Marcus confirmed before rushing out of the office.
Roman lowered his gaze. He looked at Sophie, who was hugging her mother's leg, completely oblivious to the fact that heavily armed men were currently kicking down the door to her tiny apartment across town, intending to murder her in her bed.
"They were going to kill us tonight," Nora whispered, her whole body shaking violently as the realization washed over her. She grabbed the edge of a leather chair to keep from collapsing. "If we hadn't come to the gala to beg for help... if we had stayed home..."
Roman crossed the room in two long strides and caught her by the arms, holding her steady. His deeply masculine presence anchored her to reality.
"But you didn't stay home," Roman said, his voice a steady, grounding force. "You are here. You are in my fortress. And they will never touch you."
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"But they know we survived!" Nora cried, tears of pure terror spilling over her cheeks. "When they find the apartment empty, they'll know we ran! They'll come looking for us!"
"Let them come," Roman murmured, a dark, terrifyingly calm expression settling over his angular face. He reached out and gently stroked her hair. "I have spent three years playing the diplomat, consolidating power, keeping the peace. But if the Petrovs want to step into my city and hunt my family, I will show them exactly why I am the Boss."
