Chapter 8 - THE SCAR AND THE CONFESSION
Back at the penthouse estate in the early hours of the morning, Roman personally tended to a minor scratch on my forearm.
He sat on the edge of the guest bed, holding a sterile cotton pad with gentle precision.
“You have a habit of saving my life,” Roman murmured, applying antiseptic.
“And you have a habit of attracting assassins,” I retorted gently.
Roman stopped moving.
He looked down at his hands, his broad shoulders slumping slightly.
“Those men tonight weren't random thugs,” he said, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper.
“They were professionals.”
“Victor Vance’s professionals?” I guessed.
Roman looked up, surprise flashing across his face.
“You figured that out?”
“He looked at me with pure hatred during the board meeting,” I explained.
“And tonight, when the lights went out, I saw him signaling toward the balcony before the first shot was fired.”
Roman stood up, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window.
He pulled back his right sleeve, revealing a jagged, fading white scar across his shoulder.
“Ten years ago, my father was ambushed in an alley,” Roman said, his voice hard as stone.
“Everyone thought it was a rival syndicate.”
“It wasn't.”
“It was Victor.”
“He wanted control of the real estate empire.”
“And now, he realizes I’m auditing the shadow accounts he’s been building for years.”
“He’s trying to eliminate everyone in my inner circle.”
“Including you and Leo.”
My breath caught.
“We need proof, Roman,” I said, stepping up beside him.
“We can’t just accuse your COO without evidence.”
“We have evidence,” Roman turned to face me.
“It’s locked in a physical safe inside my old office at the Laura bistro.”
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“David Kesler still has the master security logs from that building.”
“And Victor paid David off to keep them hidden.”
