Chapter 8 - RETALIATION
However, peace in Roman DeLuca’s world was rarely long-lasting.
Three days after Roman declared his love for Claire, Donald Mercer—facing financial ruin and impending federal indictment—made a desperate, catastrophic gamble.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. Roman was in Manhattan attending an urgent meeting with his legal counsel to finalize the federal evidence submission against Apex Financial. Claire had stayed behind at the Long Island estate, finalizing inventory reports in her office.
Around 3:00 PM, the estate’s security alarm shattered the quiet afternoon.
ALARM! SECTOR 4 BREACH!
Claire stood up from her desk in alarm just as Frank burst into her office, a heavy pistol already drawn in his hand.
"Claire! Get down!" Frank yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind the heavy mahogany desk.
"Frank, what's happening?!" Claire cried out.
"Mercer hired mercenaries," Frank said through gritted teeth, checking his radio. "Four armed men just rammed the south gate. They're inside the house!"
Donald Mercer knew he was going to prison. In his twisted, ruined mind, he believed that if he could kidnap Claire Bennett—the woman Roman had destroyed him for—he could force Roman to drop the federal charges and trade her for his freedom.
Gunfire echoed through the marble hallways of DeLuca House.
The estate’s elite security team immediately engaged the intruders, but the suddenness of the attack caused chaos. Frank stood over Claire, his face set in stone. "Stay here. I won't let them touch you."
Two heavily armed men in black tactical gear kicked open the office door, automatic rifles raised.
Frank fired instantly, taking down the first intruder, but the second returned fire, striking Frank in the shoulder. Frank collapsed to the floor with a groan, his weapon sliding across the hardwood.
Claire gasped in terror. Before she could move, the second intruder grabbed her by her hair, yanked her to her feet, and pressed a cold handgun against her temple.
"Move and you're dead!" the mercenary grunted, dragging her out toward the service hallway.
Claire struggled desperately, kicking and twisting, but the man was too strong. They dragged her down the stairs toward the rear exit, where a black getaway SUV was idling in the snow-covered driveway.
Standing by the SUV was Donald Mercer, looking wild-eyed and unhinged, holding a satellite phone.
"Get her in the car!" Mercer screamed frantically. "We take her to the docks! We call DeLuca from the boat!"
"Let me go!" Claire yelled, using all her weight to pull back.
"Shut up, you fat bitch!" Mercer yelled, stepping forward to strike her across the face.
SCREECH!
Before Mercer's hand could touch her, a heavy black armored SUV tore down the driveway at breakneck speed, smashing straight into Mercer’s getaway vehicle with a devastating crash of twisting metal and shattering glass.
The driver’s door of the black SUV flew open.
Roman DeLuca stepped out.
He didn't look like a businessman. He didn't look like a gentleman. He looked like the god of vengeance himself. His eyes were devoid of all human mercy, a heavy tactical pistol held firmly in his right hand.
The mercenary holding Claire panicked, trying to raise his weapon toward Roman.
THWIP. THWIP.
Two suppressed gunshots rang out in rapid succession.
The mercenary dropped instantly, a bullet hole perfectly placed between his eyes. Claire stumbled away, falling onto the snow.
Donald Mercer fell to his knees beside his ruined vehicle, raising his hands in sheer, screaming terror. "Roman! Wait! Please! It was Vivian's idea! Don't kill me!"
Roman walked forward slowly, his boots crunching on the snow. He didn't even look at Mercer. He fired a single shot into Mercer’s leg.
Mercer shrieked in agony, collapsing onto his side, clutching his bleeding thigh.
"Frank," Roman called out calmly as his security team flooded the driveway, securing the remaining intruders. "Call the authorities. Tell them Donald Mercer was shot while committing armed kidnapping and domestic terrorism."
Roman walked over to Claire, dropping his gun into a holster, and immediately pulled her up into his arms. He held her so tightly she could feel the violent thrumming of his racing heart.
"Are you hurt?" Roman asked, his voice trembling as he cupped her face, checking every inch of her for injuries. "Did he touch you?"
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"I'm okay, Roman," Claire sobbed, clinging to his jacket. "I'm okay. You came."
"I will always come for you," Roman swore, kissing her deeply amidst the wreckage and blood of the driveway. "Always."
