Chapter 6 - The Chicago Delegation
The storm outside had escalated into a full-scale tempest. Lightning split the sky over the Hudson River, casting jagged white flashes across the dark windows of the east wing suite.
Sophia sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the heavy oak door.
She could hear muffled sounds echoing through the grand corridors below—heavy boots on marble, urgent shouts over encrypted radios, and the low, ominous hum of the estate's automated security systems engaging.
She wasn't going to hide.
Not anymore.
She had spent her entire life hiding—ducking bill collectors, covering for her brother, cowering behind locked doors while the world crashed down around her. She was done being a victim.
Quietly, she stood up, winced as her ribs gave a dull protest, and slipped out into the hallway.
The main staircase was blocked by two of Roman's guards in tactical vests carrying assault rifles. They didn't see her as she slipped down the service hallway toward the grand library on the second floor, which overlooked the sweeping front foyer.
She pushed open the library doors just an inch, peering down into the brightly lit entrance hall below.
A dozen men in tailored black suits stood in a circle. They weren't wearing tactical gear like Roman's guards; they wore the classic, expensive armor of old-world mobsters, led by a tall, silver-haired man with cold, dead eyes and a white silk scarf tucked into his coat.
Salvatore Marcone.
At the center of the foyer stood Roman.
He was flanked by Thomas and four armed guards, but Roman wasn't holding a weapon. He stood casually with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, radiating a terrifying aura of absolute dominance.
"You're getting old, Roman," Marcone laughed, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. "Thinking you can retire to a fortress in the woods and dictate terms to Chicago. You broke Victor Caruso, yes, but Victor was a fool. You didn't consult the Commission before taking his docks."
"The Commission doesn't run the East Coast anymore, Salvatore," Roman replied, his voice calm, smooth, and utterly devoid of fear. "I do."
Marcone's smile faded. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "You've gone soft, old friend. Word on the street is you've been spending your time playing nursemaid to some mechanic's kid from Queens. Bringing stray dogs into your home."
The moment Marcone spoke those words, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Thomas shifted his grip on his rifle. The guards tensed.
Roman's face didn't change, but his eyes became twin glaciers of black ice.
"Repeat that," Roman whispered.
Marcone chuckled nervously, trying to regain his bravado. "I'm just saying, a man who surrounds himself with charity cases isn't fit to sit at the head of—"
Bang.
A silenced shot from the upper balcony shattered the marble tile inches from Marcone's polished shoes.
Marcone jumped, screaming in shock as he stumbled backward into his own men.
"Keep her name out of your filthy mouth," Roman said, his voice deadly quiet.
Up on the balcony, hidden in the shadows of the library doorway, Sophia lowered her hand. She had grabbed one of the security pistols Roman had left in his desk drawer earlier that week. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her hand had been remarkably steady.
Downstairs, Marcone stared up at the balcony in horror.
"You brought a civilian into this?" Marcone hissed, his face purple with rage. "Kill them all! Take the estate!"
Marcone's men drew their weapons.
Before they could raise their barrels, the overhead skylights of the foyer shattered inward with a deafening crash.
Dozens of smoke canisters dropped from the ceiling, followed immediately by blinding flashbangs.
Chaos erupted.
Gunfire tore through the air, deafening and violent. Marcone's men scattered, disoriented by the smoke and flashbangs, while Roman's tactical team swarmed down from the upper levels like ghosts.
Sophia pressed herself flat against the library wall as the concussive shockwaves rattled the windows.
Within ninety seconds, the gunfire stopped.
The heavy white smoke cleared to reveal a staggering scene. All twelve of Marcone's men were disarmed, zip-tied, and forced onto their knees on the marble floor.
Marcone himself was pinned against a marble pillar by Thomas, a heavy blade pressed against his throat.
Roman walked slowly through the smoke, his coat trailing behind him, looking like the grim reaper himself. He stopped in front of Marcone, staring down at the terrified Chicago boss.
"You have twenty-four hours to leave New York," Roman said softly. "If you ever cross into my territory again, I won't send a warning shot."
Marcone choked out a desperate, breathless laugh. "You think... you think this is over? Someone will always come for you, Roman. You can't protect everyone!"
Roman's gaze flicked upward toward the second-floor balcony.
He locked eyes with Sophia through the dissipating smoke.
May you like
For a fraction of a second, the terrifying warlord vanished, replaced by a man who looked at her with pure, unadulterated devotion.
"I can," Roman whispered, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "And I will."
