Chapter 10 - The Iron Perimeter
The glass terrace of Vance Tower trembled under the relentless pounding of the midnight rain. Below them, the glittering skyline of the city looked like drowned jewels, fractured and cold. Roman didn't release Sadi’s hand; his thumb traced the delicate curve of her knuckles, feeling the steady, deliberate pulse beneath her skin. Most women in her position would have wept. Most people who had spent their lives enduring poverty and abuse would have broken at the mere mention of the Petrov syndicate.
Sadi didn't blink.
"You knew this day would come," she said, her voice cutting through the hum of the air circulation and the drum of the downpour. "A man like you doesn't conquer a city without making ghosts."
"The Petrovs aren't ghosts," Roman answered, his tone dropping an octave, carrying the dark gravity that made seasoned killers lower their eyes in his presence. "They are wolves who starved through the winter. And Marcus Sterling just handed them meat."
Before Sadi could reply, the heavy double doors of the private penthouse suite swung open. Silas entered, his bespoke coat drenched across the shoulders, drops of water dripping from the brim of his black umbrella onto the polished slate entryway. He didn't offer apologies for the late intrusion; the tension in the room demanded pure business.
"Boss," Silas said, nodding respectfully toward Sadi before locking eyes with Roman. "Marcus slipped through the third perimeter at the south docks an hour ago. He wasn't driving his own car. He was in the back of an armored Mercedes bearing diplomatic plates from the Russian consulate."
Roman’s jaw tightened, the sharp line of his profile turning to granite. "Did Mikhail Petrov welcome him?"
"Not Mikhail," Silas corrected grimly. "Viktor."
The room seemed to drop ten degrees. Sadi watched Roman’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. She had spent the last two months learning the names that ruled the underbelly of the coast, studying the ledgers and maps Roman kept behind the mahogany panels of his study. Mikhail was an old businessman who bargained in shadows. Viktor was his youngest son—a butcher educated in Swiss boarding schools who preferred car bombs and piano wire to boardrooms.
"Viktor is reckless," Roman murmured. "He thinks taking in Sterling makes him a player in this territory again."
"Sterling brought collateral," Silas added, pulling a sealed manila envelope from inside his coat and handing it to Roman. "Before Marcus fled his penthouse, he wiped the Sterling Financial servers, but he took five encrypted flash drives. Shipping manifests, shell accounts, and the blind routing numbers for the municipal port authorities."
"The logistics codes," Sadi said, piecing it together instantly. "Marcus didn't just run for his life. He traded the keys to the entire western shipping corridor."
Silas glanced at her, surprise flickering in his gaze before settling into deep respect. "Precisely, Mrs. Vance. If Viktor cracks those codes, he doesn't need to fight us on the streets. He can choke off the city's supply chain by morning."
Roman tore open the envelope, scanned the printed surveillance photos of a bruised, frantic Marcus Sterling being ushered into a warehouse near the industrial docks, and tossed them onto the glass table. In the photos, Marcus looked hollowed out, clutching a briefcase like a child clinging to a broken toy. The arrogance that had once fueled his cruelty at the mall was gone, replaced by the cornered terror of a dead man walking.
"He thinks Viktor is his savior," Roman said with a cold, humorless chuckle. "Marcus doesn't understand the first rule of monsters. You don't ask a beast to save you from a fire unless you're prepared to be eaten first."
Roman turned back to Sadi. He cupped her face with his free hand, his leather-scented warmth washing over her, grounding her amid the rising tide of violence. "I need you moved to the safe house in the Berkshires. An armored convoy is waiting below. Silas will take you himself."
Sadi pulled back, just an inch, her dark eyes flashing with sudden, fierce defiance.
"No," she said.
Silas blinked. No one told Roman Vance 'no.' Not his lieutenants, not his rivals, not the judges he bought.
Roman’s gaze sharpened. "Sadi. This isn't a board meeting. Viktor Petrov doesn't target assets. He targets blood."
"And what happens if I hide in the mountains?" Sadi asked, her voice calm, devoid of the hesitation that had defined her former life. "Marcus knows me. He knows where I grew up, where my sister's grave is, where every vulnerability in my memory lies. If I run, he thinks you're defending a prize. If I stay, he knows you're holding a fortress."
She stepped closer, placing both hands against Roman’s chest, feeling the heavy, rhythmic beat of his heart. "Marcus kicked me down in that mall because he believed I was disposable. If I hide now, I prove him right. You gave me your name, Roman. You gave me a ring that can buy half this city. Treat me like your wife, not your hostage."
A slow, terrifying grin spread across Roman Vance’s face. It was the smile of a king who had just discovered his queen was built of the same cold steel as his crown.
"Silas," Roman said without taking his eyes off Sadi.
"Yes, Boss?"
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"Cancel the Berkshires convoy. Double the perimeter guards on this tower. Put snipers on the adjacent rooftops, and tell the harbor masters that any vessel flying eastern colors will be inspected with live ammunition." Roman leaned down, pressing his lips against Sadi’s temple, whispering against her skin. "Marcus wanted a war. Let’s make sure he pays for every bullet."
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