Chapter 5 - The Glass Boardroom
The main living room of the penthouse featured a sweeping, two-story glass wall that overlooked the glowing skyline of downtown Chicago. Rain streaked down the massive glass panes, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold, red, and blue.
Roman stood at the center of the room, his hands casually tucked into his trousers pockets.
Standing across from him were twelve armed men. At the front of the group stood Mateo Moretti—the sixty-year-old underboss of the Duca syndicate, a man with silver hair, sharp tailored clothes, and eyes like a viper.
Beside Mateo stood Vincent Caruso, his hand resting firmly on the butt of his holstered gun.
"Roman," Mateo said smoothly, stepping across the Persian rug. "Vincent called me in a panic. He said Elena Cross returned to Chicago. He said she snuck into the city with three children, trying to compromise your security."
Mateo took a slow step closer, his expression filled with fake, paternal concern. "You know what we have to do, Roman. The family rules are clear. She was exiled for treason. If she returns, she must be handled according to the law of the syndicate. Hand her over to my men. We will take care of it quietly so you don't have to stain your hands again."
Roman didn't move. He stood like an iron pillar in the center of the room, listening to Mateo's voice.
"You've been very loyal, Mateo," Roman said quietly. "Six years ago, when the Betrayal File appeared on my desk, you were the one who advised me not to execute her. You said exile was more merciful."
"I loved her like a daughter, Roman," Mateo sighed, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I wanted to spare your heart the pain of her execution."
"You didn't want to spare my heart, Mateo," Roman said softly, turning his head slowly to look Mateo straight in the eye. "You wanted her out of the city before she finished auditing the construction union ledgers."
Mateo’s smooth, relaxed expression twitched slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"Page twelve of the Betrayal File," Roman said, taking a slow step forward. "The Swiss bank routing server code."
Vincent’s hand twitched over his holster. Mateo’s eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits.
"I had my tech team run that server code ten minutes ago while I was sitting with my children," Roman continued, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl that reverberated through the vast room. "It didn't point to Zurich, Mateo. It pointed to a private account registered to your brother-in-law in the Cayman Islands."
The room went deathly silent. The ten armed guards exchanged nervous glances, sensing the catastrophic shift in the room's power dynamic.
"Roman..." Mateo began, his voice losing its smooth polish, taking on a sharp, desperate edge. "You're letting emotion cloud your judgment! She’s playing you! She brought fake documents to save her own skin!"
"She didn't bring fake documents, Mateo," Roman said, stepping directly into Mateo’s personal space, towering over the older underboss. "She brought my children. Three children with my eyes. Three children you tried to run off the road in South Bend three weeks ago."
Mateo gasped softly, taking a quick step backward.
"You knew that if those children ever walked into my light, the lie would end," Roman growled, his body shaking with suppressed rage. "You knew that if I looked into their faces, I would tear your entire world apart to find the truth."
Mateo realized the trap had sprung. He looked at Vincent and screamed, "DO IT NOW!"
Vincent pulled his gun.
Before Vincent could raise the barrel, Roman moved with terrifying, lightning speed. He grabbed Vincent’s wrist, twisting it inward with a sickening CRACK. Vincent shrieked in agony as his gun fell to the floor. Roman grabbed Vincent by the throat, lifted the two-hundred-pound man off his feet, and slammed him face-first through the massive glass coffee table at the center of the room.
Glass shattered everywhere.
The ten guards raised their weapons, but before anyone could pull a trigger, the double doors of the private elevator burst open.
Twenty heavily armed Duca loyalists—led by Roman’s personal bodyguards who had remained loyal to the Duca bloodline—flooded into the penthouse, their submachine guns aimed directly at Mateo’s men.
"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" the lead captain roared.
Mateo’s men looked at the overwhelming firepower surrounding them, looked at Vincent bleeding profusely on the shattered glass floor, and slowly lowered their weapons to the rug.
Mateo stood alone in the center of the room, his face pale as paper, trembling as Roman turned back to face him.
Roman wiped a small smear of Vincent's blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. His dark eyes were cold, empty, and merciless.
"You stole six years of my life with my wife," Roman whispered, stepping closer to Mateo. "You made me live in an empty palace while my children wore thrift-store clothes. You made me believe the only woman I ever loved was a traitor."
"Roman... please..." Mateo begged, dropping to his knees, his hands raised in surrender. "We were trying to protect the empire! She was digging too deep! She was going to ruin us!"
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Roman reached into his shoulder holster, pulled out his gun, and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against Mateo’s forehead.
"You didn't protect the empire, Mateo," Roman growled softly. "You just guaranteed its destruction."
