Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Storm
Roman reacted before the echoes of the gunshots even finished bouncing off the
limestone walls. In one fluid motion, he pulled Claire off the bed, shielding
her entire body with his own as he drew a sleek black semi-automatic pistol from
his shoulder holster beneath his unbuttoned shirt. "Stay down," Roman whispered,
his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Claire’s heart was hammering so hard
against her ribs she thought it might crack them. "Mr. DeLuca—" "Roman," he
corrected in a calm, lethal murmur. "Use my name, Claire. Keep low, behind me."
The room was illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the blizzard outside
the arched windows. Footsteps sounded in the outer corridor. Heavy, tactical
boots. Not Dante. Dante’s men moved with lighter, coordinated pacing. Roman
moved Claire toward the walk-in cedar wardrobe, pressing a hidden latch behind
the wood paneling. A heavy steel door clicked open, revealing a reinforced panic
room equipped with monitors and independent power. "Get inside and lock it,"
Roman instructed. Claire grabbed his forearm with both hands. Her grip was
surprisingly strong. "No! Don't go out there! There are too many of them!" Roman
looked down at her hands on his arm, a grim, beautiful smile touching the corner
of his lips in the dark. "They came into my home while you were freezing," Roman
said softly. "They signed their own death warrants."
Suddenly, the heavy master bedroom door splintered inward. A masked gunman
stepped into the room, raising a rifle. Roman didn't flinch. He fired twice with
pinpoint precision. The gunman collapsed without a sound. Behind him, two more
shadows charged through the hallway. "Clear the room! Mercer said the girl must
not survive the night!" a voice barked over a tactical radio on the fallen man's
vest. Roman dragged Claire behind the heavy mahogany armoire as bullets tore
through the room, shredding the silk curtains and shattering the antique mirrors
into sparkling rain.
Roman returned fire, dropping a second intruder, but the third tossed a flash
grenade across the floor. Clack-clack. "Look away!" Roman shouted, spinning
around to cover Claire with his broad back, burying her head against his chest.
The blinding white flash and deafening boom shook the foundations of the room.
Through the ringing in her ears, Claire felt Roman shudder slightly as a spray
of plaster and shrapnel struck his left shoulder. "Roman!" Claire cried out,
fear for him overpowering her terror of the men outside. Through the settling
smoke, the remaining hitman stepped forward, raising his weapon point-blank at
Roman's head while Roman recovered his footing. Claire didn't think. She grabbed
a heavy bronze sculpture of a rearing horse from the nightstand and hurled it
with all her strength at the gunman's face.
The heavy metal struck the man square in the nose with a sickening crunch. He
stumbled backward, howling in pain, his aim knocked wildly off course. That
split-second was all Roman DeLuca needed. Roman lunged, disarmed the man with a
brutal twist of his wrist, and slammed him against the limestone wall, his hand
crushing the intruder's throat. Roman pressed the cold barrel of his pistol
against the man's forehead. "Who sent you?" Roman snarled. The man choked,
gasping for air. "Mercer... Arthur Mercer made a deal with the Moretti
syndicate... they're hitting your port shipments tonight while we take your
estate..."
May you like
Roman knocked the man unconscious with a single strike, let him drop to the
floor, and turned back to Claire. Claire was trembling, standing in the middle
of the ruined room, her breathing ragged. Roman walked over, took her face in
his warm, calloused hands, and pulled her in until their foreheads rested
against each other. "You saved my life, Claire," he murmured, his breath hot
against her lips. "You saved mine first," she whispered back.
From the hallway, Dante came rushing in, his weapon lowered, blood dripping from
a cut on his brow. "Boss! The house is secure. We eliminated the strike team
downstairs," Dante said, catching his breath. "But we have a bigger problem.
Vivian Mercer didn't leave the grounds. She took two armed guards and broke into
the lower archives—she’s trying to burn the original family ledgers before we
can copy them."
