Chapter 4 - The Prodigal's Return
Forty-eight hours later, the heavy iron gates of the estate swung open for a second time.
A black van escorted by two of Roman’s security vehicles drove up the winding driveway and parked near the side entrance.
Sophia stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the second-floor library, watching as two guards hauled a kicking, screaming man out of the back of the van.
It was Eric.
He looked thinner than he had a month ago, his designer jacket scuffed, his hair messy, his face flushed with panic and alcohol.
"Let me go! Do you know who I am?" Eric shouted, stumbling as the guards shoved him forward. "You can't do this! This is kidnapping! Call my sister—Sofia will pay you!"
"Shut your mouth," one of the guards muttered, pushing him through the side doors.
Sophia turned away from the window, smoothed down her sweater, and walked slowly down the grand staircase.
By the time she reached the foyer, Eric was standing in the center of the marble floor, breathing heavily, flanked by Thomas and two massive security operatives.
When he saw her descending the stairs, his face lit up with desperate relief.
"Sofia! Thank God!" Eric cried out, rushing toward the stairs, but a heavy hand from Thomas landed on his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Sofia, tell these maniacs to let me go! They grabbed me off the floor of the Golden Nugget! They shoved a bag over my head! You have to help me—"
Sophia stopped three steps from the bottom. She looked down at her older brother—the boy who had taught her how to ride a bike, who had promised their dying father that he would always protect her, and who had ultimately traded her life for a poker hand.
She didn't say a word.
Eric finally noticed her appearance. He saw the faded yellow bruise along her cheekbone, the subtle stiffness in her posture, the quiet, terrifying coldness in her eyes.
His desperate smile faltered. "S-Sofia? What happened to your face?"
"Victor's men came to the shop, Eric," she said, her voice dropping into a register so quiet that the foyer fell dead silent. "They asked where you were. I told them I didn't know. So they beat me. They broke three of my ribs. They left me in the dirt."
Eric swallowed hard, taking a step back. "I... I didn't mean... I was going to pay them back! I had a system, Soph, I swear—"
"You didn't have a system," a deep, authoritative voice cut through the room.
Roman stepped out from the doorway of his study. He walked slowly across the marble floor, buttoning his jacket, towering over Eric by half a foot.
Eric flinched, recognizing the aura of absolute danger radiating off the man. "W-Who are you?"
"I am the man who just bought your life for three hundred thousand dollars," Roman said softly, stopping inches from Eric.
Eric's knees buckled slightly. "V-Victor's debt? But I—I was paying him—"
"You were running," Roman corrected. "And you left your sister to take a beating meant for you."
Eric looked desperately back at Sophia. "Sofia, please! Tell him! We're family! You can't let these animals—"
"We are done being family, Eric," Sophia interrupted. She walked down the remaining steps, stopping two feet away from him.
The distance between them felt like an ocean.
"You took Dad's garage and mortgaged it behind my back," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You stole from men who kill people for sport. And when the bill came due, you ran away and let them crush my ribs on the pavement."
"I'm sorry!" Eric sobbed, genuine panic finally breaking through his arrogant facade. "I'll fix it! I swear I'll work—"
"You won't work," Roman said, signaling to Thomas. "And you won't stay here."
Thomas stepped forward, holding a single manila folder and a train ticket.
"What is this?" Eric stammered, backing away.
"A bus ticket to Seattle," Roman said coldly. "And a one-way train ticket out of my sight. You have twenty-four hours to cross the state line. If you ever set foot in New York again, or if you ever attempt to contact your sister, my men won't bother bringing you back here. They will drop you in the Hudson."
Eric stared at Roman, then looked at Sophia, whose face remained a mask of stone. Realizing that no one was going to save him, that his charm and his excuses had finally run out, his face twisted into a mask of bitter resentment.
"You're a cold bitch, Sofia!" Eric snarled, pulling away from Thomas's grip. "Enjoy playing house with your mobster boyfriend! See how long he keeps you around before he gets tired of you!"
Before Thomas could react, Roman's hand moved with terrifying speed.
He grabbed Eric by the lapels of his jacket, lifting him off his feet with a single arm, slamming him against the marble pillar with a sickening thud that echoed through the entire foyer.
Eric gasped, his eyes bulging with terror as Roman's face came inches from his.
"If you ever speak to her like that again," Roman whispered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, suppressed fury, "I won't send you to Seattle."
Roman dropped him.
Eric hit the floor coughing, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.
"Get him out of my house," Roman ordered without looking down.
Thomas and the guards hauled Eric to his feet, dragging him kicking and screaming toward the side exit. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off his frantic cries.
The foyer fell into a profound, heavy silence.
Sophia stood still, staring at the spot where her brother had just been. The last anchor tying her to her past—the guilt, the obligation, the endless cycle of saving Eric from himself—was gone.
She felt lightheaded. Her knees wobbled.
Before she could hit the floor, strong arms caught her.
Roman scooped her up effortlessly, ignoring her gasp of surprise, and carried her out of the foyer toward the private elevator.
"You shouldn't have watched that," Roman said quietly as the elevator doors closed around them, ascending toward the upper levels.
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"I needed to see it," Sophia whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. "I needed to know he was really gone."
"He's gone," Roman promised, his deep voice rumbling against her chest. "And he is never coming back."
