Chapter 2 - Shadows in Brookline
The estate in Brookline was a grand, stone manor tucked behind a dense forest of ancient oaks and enclosed by a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence. It was a property Roman had purchased five years ago under a shell corporation, intended as a ultimate fallback position if federal indictments ever rained down on his core operations. No ledger in the Mercer syndicate carried its address.
The black SUV pulled up to the rear entrance at dusk. Mateo, Roman’s most trusted lieutenant—a graying veteran who had served Roman’s father before him—opened the heavy wooden door, his expression unreadable as he saw Roman carrying the heavily pregnant woman through the threshold.
“Is the medical team here?” Roman demanded, marching past the foyer toward the ground-floor master suite.
“Dr. Vance is waiting inside, boss,” Mateo replied quietly, closing the door and locking the deadbolts. “She brought the portable ultrasound and full blood panels. Everything is sterile.”
Roman carried Claire into the warm, carpeted bedroom. The fire was already roaring in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the king-sized bed wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets. Claire gasped softly as she was laid down, the contrast between the Revere cellar and this opulent warmth overwhelming her senses.
Dr. Vance, a sharp-eyed woman in her late fifties who had been on the Mercer payroll for a decade handling off-the-books injuries, immediately stepped forward.
“Out, Roman,” Dr. Vance said crisping, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Give us thirty minutes. She’s exhausted, dehydrated, and her stress levels are through the roof. I need to run a full fetal assessment.”
Roman looked down at Claire. She looked up at him from the bed, her hands clutching the duvet. For the first time in seven months, her eyes held something other than pure terror.
“I won't be far,” Roman promised, leaning down to press a firm kiss to her forehead. His skin lingered against hers for a long second before he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Mateo was waiting in the hallway, holding two glasses of neat scotch. He offered one to Roman, but Roman ignored it, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark courtyard.
“Talk to me, Mateo,” Roman commanded.
“Thomas called three times while you were in Chelsea,” Mateo said softly. “He knows the SUVs were moved from the harbor depot. He’s asking why you personally led an unscheduled sweep without telling the captains.”
Roman’s hand tightened into a fist at his side. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were following a lead on a hijacked shipment from the docks in East Boston. He seemed to buy it, but his men are active. He’s increased his security detail at the North End club.” Mateo paused, sweeping a hand through his graying hair. “Roman... is what she said true?”
Roman turned around, his eyes cold as ice. “She was living in a cellar in Revere, Mateo. Eating from a church pantry. Carrying my child in a coat that didn't fit. You think she made that up to live like a dog for seven months?”
Mateo swallowed hard, bowing his head. “No, boss. I don't. But Thomas... he’s your brother. Half the syndicate’s loyalties are split between you two now. If you move against him without absolute proof that the captains can see, it will start a war inside the family that will burn Boston to the ground.”
“Then let it burn,” Roman said flatly. “Thomas signed his death warrant the moment he put a gun to her sister’s head. But I won't just kill him, Mateo. I’m going to unearth every single rat he bribed to pull this off.”
The master bedroom door opened, and Dr. Vance stepped out, pulling off her gloves. Her expression was solemn, but there was a faint trace of relief in her eyes.
“How is she?” Roman asked instantly, stepping forward.
“She’s severely malnourished, Roman,” Dr. Vance reported. “Her iron levels are dangerously low, and she’s showing early signs of preeclampsia due to chronic, extreme stress. The baby... the baby is small for thirty-five weeks, but resilient. It’s a boy.”
Roman’s chest tightened. A boy.
“Can she carry to term?”
“If she stays in this bed, gets proper intravenous nutrition, and remains completely calm for the next three weeks,” Dr. Vance stated firmly. “Any major spike in blood pressure could induce early labor, and right now, neither she nor the child are strong enough for a stressful delivery. She needs absolute peace, Roman. Do you understand me? Absolute peace.”
May you like
Roman looked past the doctor into the bedroom. Claire was lying back against the pillows, an IV drip already inserted into her arm, staring at the small, printed black-and-white ultrasound picture resting in her hands.
“She will have peace,” Roman said softly. “I will burn the rest of the world down outside this house to make sure she has it.”
