Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Guest
The grand drawing room of Blackmere House was bathed in the warm light of a roaring hearth, but the air inside was freezing cold.
Julian Moretti sat on a leather sofa, his legs crossed arrogantly, an expensive cigar resting between his fingers. At thirty-six, Julian was handsome in a sharp, predatory way, dressed in a flashier suit than Roman’s tailored minimalism. Standing behind him were three heavy-set men with hands resting near their jacket holsters.
On the opposite side of the room stood Roman, casually pouring two glasses of bourbon from a crystal decanter.
Nora stood behind the heavy velvet curtains of the second-floor balcony overlooking the drawing room, her heart beating so hard she was certain the men below could hear it. Vance stood beside her in the dark shadow, holding a silenced weapon, ensuring she remained completely hidden.
"It's been a long time, Roman," Julian said smoothly, taking a puff of his cigar. "Your security guards at the gate are a bit paranoid, don't you think?"
"My guards do their job, Julian," Roman replied, walking over and handing a glass to Julian. He didn't sit down; he remained standing, towering over the younger Moretti with absolute dominance. "State your business. I don't usually entertain uninvited guests past eight o'clock."
Julian laughed, a grating, confident sound. "Business in Chicago is expanding. My father wants to secure exclusive transit rights through your railyards for our Detroit shipments. We're offering a twenty percent cut."
"No," Roman answered instantly, taking a slow sip of his drink.
Julian’s smile faltered slightly. "No? Just like that? It's easy money, Blackmere."
"I don't deal in human trafficking or illegal narcotics, Julian. You know my rules," Roman said flatly. "Your father knows better than to send you here with trash offers."
Julian set his glass down on the table with a loud clack. His dark eyes narrowed into cruel slits. "You're getting arrogant in your old age, Roman. You think this city belongs to you? Times are changing. The Moretti family takes what it wants."
"Is that so?" Roman asked calmly, turning his back on Julian to stoke the fire. "Is that why you've spent the last two years running private detective agencies ragged looking for a ghost?"
In the shadows of the balcony above, Nora felt her throat close up.
Julian froze, his posture stiffening instantly. "What did you say?"
Roman turned around, holding the iron poker in his hand, his storm-gray eyes locked onto Julian with terrifying precision.
"You heard me," Roman murmured softly. "You've been burning through resources searching for Arthur Vance's niece. Eleanor, wasn't it?"
Julian stood up slowly, his bodyguards shifting their weight behind him. "How do you know that name?"
"I know everything that happens in this state, Julian," Roman said, taking a slow step toward him. "Word on the street is that you want her back to clear a family debt. But I have a new piece of information for you."
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"Where is she?" Julian demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh sneer. "If you're hiding her—"
"If I were hiding her," Roman interrupted, his voice dropping into an octave of sheer, murderous authority that echoed off the stone walls, "you wouldn't leave this driveway alive for even asking. Eleanor Vance is dead to you, Julian. If I ever hear her name leave your mouth again, or if I catch your men within fifty miles of Chicago... I will dismantle the Moretti family brick by brick."
