Chapter 5 - The Safehouse on the Key
By two o'clock that afternoon, Biscayne Bay was churning under a dark line of approaching thunderstorm clouds. Heavy gray rain began to hammer against the glass walls of Carbone Strategic Holdings.
A black armored SUV sat idling in the private subterranean exit beneath the building.
Roman opened the rear door, holding a thick black umbrella over Iris as she stepped out of the private elevator. She had changed out of her blood-stained blazer into a soft gray cashmere sweater and dark trousers that one of Roman's female assistants had brought down from a boutique downtown.
Her right hand was neatly bandaged in fresh white gauze, resting in a black sling across her chest to keep her shoulder from pulling against her bruised ribs.
"Where are we going?" Iris asked as Roman climbed into the back seat beside her, closing the heavy armored door with a solid, airtight thud.
"Key Biscayne," Roman said, nodding to his driver, a quiet, thick-necked man named Marco. "I have a private estate on the south end of the island. Private dock, gated perimeter, bulletproof glass, and six armed men who don't answer to anyone except me."
The SUV pulled out into the blinding Miami rain, its heavy tires splashing through the deep puddles on Brickell Avenue.
Iris leaned her head against the cool leather headrest, feeling the exhaustion of the last six hours pulling at her limbs like lead weights. "You don't have to do all this, Roman. I can take a flight to my sister's house in Denver until this blows over."
Roman turned his head slowly to look at her. His dark eyes were intense, unyielding, and fierce. "You're not flying anywhere, Iris. Vanev has contacts at every major airport in the Southeast. The moment your name appears on a flight manifest, his men will be waiting at the gate."
"And your estate is safer?"
"My estate is a fortress," Roman said flatly. "And more importantly... I'll be there."
Silence stretched between them in the plush interior of the SUV as they crossed the long, rain-swept expanse of the Rickenbacker Causeway. The bay around them was white with foam, choppy waves crashing against the concrete barriers.
Iris looked down at her lap, her left hand tracing the seam of her trousers. "Why didn't you fire me four years ago, Roman?"
The question caught him off guard. He looked at her profile, illuminated by the grey light filtering through the tinted windows. "Why would I have fired you?"
"When I was hired, I was twenty-four. I made three major accounting corrections in my first month that embarrassed two senior vice presidents. They went to your office and asked you to transfer me back to the regional branch in Orlando."
Roman gave a quiet, low chortle in his chest. "I remember. They told me you were arrogant, hyper-focused, and lacked 'corporate diplomacy.'"
"And what did you tell them?"
"I told them that if they made one more accounting mistake that a twenty-four-year-old girl had to fix, I'd throw them off the balcony," Roman said simply.
Iris looked up at him, a genuine smile breaking across her tired face. "You really said that?"
"Word for word," Roman said, his dark eyes softening as he looked at her smile. "I don't hire people for corporate diplomacy, Iris. I hire them because they have sight. You see the truth in things when everyone else is looking for an easy lie."
He reached across the space between them, his large, warm hand resting gently over her knee, his thumb making a slow, soothing circle against the fabric.
"I let you down today," Roman murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, painful whisper. "You were attacked in your own building because I didn't pay close enough attention to what Hal was doing in his corner office. That will never happen again."
Iris felt her throat tighten, a warm, golden heat spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man sitting beside her.
"I trust you, Roman," she whispered softly, covering his hand with her own uninjured palm. "I always have."
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The SUV turned off the main road onto a long, winding gravel driveway shaded by dense, dripping banyan trees, stopping before a massive set of wrought-iron gates that opened automatically to let them pass.
Beyond the gates stood a magnificent, two-story coral-stone villa overlooking the dark, wild ocean.
