Chapter 4 - Whispers Across the East River
The winter wind howling off the East River was bitter, whipping frozen mist against the tinted windows of Roman’s armored Maybach. We sat parked in the shadows of an industrial alleyway two blocks from the St. Regis Hotel in Manhattan.
"Review the plan one more time," Roman said, his voice calm and steady in the dim interior of the car.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down the lapels of the heavy wool coat Dr. Vance had cleared me to wear over my bandaged ribs. "I walk into the private courtyard behind the hotel. I tell Grant that you've been interrogating me about the harbor routes, but that you haven't laid a hand on me yet because you want the location of Father's offshore accounts first. I demand he give me the security keys to my mother's trust fund in exchange for Caruso shipping codes."
"And when he threatens you?" Roman asked, his dark eyes locked on mine.
"I pretend to be terrified. I play the broken sister who will do anything to keep the photographs hidden."
Roman reached across the leather seat and took my hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding, and completely devoid of the violence I had grown up fearing from men.
"The moment he steps into the courtyard, Matteo and four snipers will have red dots on his chest," Roman said. "You will be wearing a wire, and a panic button is sewn into the right pocket of your coat. If he touches you—if he even raises a finger toward you—press it, and my men will put a bullet through both of his knees."
"I can do this, Roman," I said, feeling a surge of strength I hadn't known I possessed. "For years, I survived Grant when I had no one in my corner. Now, I have you."
Roman looked at me with an intensity that made the air in the car feel electric. He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my knuckles. "You will never stand alone again, Evelyn. Go. Make him believe the lie."
I stepped out of the Maybach into the freezing night air. My heart hammered against my cracked ribs, but with every step I took toward the St. Regis courtyard, the terror that had ruled my life began to transform into cold, calculated resolve.
The courtyard was deserted, surrounded by high brick walls and frosted iron gates. Grant was already standing beneath a flickering gas lantern, his expensive camel-hair coat pulled tight against the cold, a burning cigarette clamped between his teeth.
"You're five minutes late," Grant snapped as I approached, his face twisting into his familiar, sneering scowl. "I see Caruso hasn't taught you punctuality yet."
"I had to slip past his house guards, Grant," I said, keeping my voice trembling and hesitant, playing the part to perfection. "Roman watches every move I make. If he finds out I came here—"
"He won't find out unless you screw it up," Grant hissed, stepping closer. He looked at me with cruel amusement, his eyes dropping to my high collar. "How does it feel, Evelyn? Sleeping under the roof of the man who wanted our family dead? Has he figured out what a damaged, pathetic little creature you are yet?"
I clenched my fists inside my coat pockets, my thumb resting lightly against the panic button. "Roman wants Father's offshore accounts. He thinks I have the access codes."
Grant’s eyes flashed with greed. "Do you?"
"I might," I whispered. "Father wrote the master cipher in his personal ledger before he died. The one hidden in the library safe at the Westchester manor. But I won't give it to you unless you destroy those photos and release my trust fund."
Grant let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. He took a sudden, aggressive step forward, raising his hand as if to grab my jaw—the exact movement he always made before striking me.
Crack!
A split second before Grant’s fingers could touch my skin, a single suppressed sniper shot shattered the stone pavement inches from Grant’s designer leather shoes, sending shards of asphalt into his trousers.
Grant shrieked, stumbling backward and falling hard onto the icy ground. "What the hell?!"
High above on the surrounding rooftops, three visible green laser sights snapped directly onto Grant’s forehead, his chest, and his throat.
From the dark archway of the courtyard, the slow, rhythmic sound of leather shoes against stone echoed through the night. Roman stepped into the pool of amber lamplight, flanked by Matteo and two heavily armed Caruso enforcers.
Grant went entirely pale, his cigarette falling from his trembling lips. "Caruso... what is this?! We have a treaty!"
Roman walked with lethal elegance, stopping directly in front of the crawling Mercer heir. He didn't look at Grant with anger; he looked at him with the cold disgust one might reserve for a cockroach on a kitchen floor.
"A treaty?" Roman asked, his voice smooth as silk and cold as ice. "A treaty requires honor, Grant. And you have none."
Roman reached down, grabbed Grant by the lapels of his camel coat with one hand, and effortlessly hoisted him to his feet, slamming him back against the brick wall.
"Did you really think I wouldn't find out what you did to my wife?" Roman whispered, leaning into Grant's terrified face.
Grant’s eyes darted frantically between Roman and me. "She's lying to you, Roman! She's crazy! She fell—our father was strict, but she's making it up to turn you against me!"
Roman’s grip tightened, cutting off Grant’s oxygen until the Mercer heir began to turn blue.
"I saw the scars, you miserable piece of filth," Roman growled. "I saw the brand of your signet ring on her back. And every single mark you put on Evelyn’s body is a debt you will pay back to me in blood."
Roman dropped Grant unceremoniously to the frozen ground, wiping his hands on a pristine white handkerchief.
"Tomorrow night is the Metropolitan Winter Gala," Roman said coldly. "You will attend. You will smile for the cameras. And you will watch as I systematically dismantle everything your father built. If you try to run, my snipers will end you before you reach the runway at JFK."
Roman turned his back on Grant, walked over to me, and wrapped his strong arm possessively around my waist. He didn't rush me. He led me gently back toward the Maybach, leaving my brother shivering and broken in the snow.
May you like
As the car doors locked, Roman pulled me into his arms, resting his chin against my hair.
"Phase one is complete," he whispered. "Tomorrow, the city will see who truly holds the crown."
