Chapter 8 - The Shadow of Biscayne
On the black-and-white security monitor, Roman looked like a figure carved out of solid obsidian.
The three men in the hallway froze as he stepped into the light of the hallway sconces.
The man in the lead—a tall, heavily built individual wearing a dark rain jacket and holding a custom tactical pistol—stepped forward, lowering his night-vision visor to reveal a scarred, pale face and cold gray eyes.
Viktor Vanev.
The syndicate boss had come himself.
Through the low-fidelity audio feed inside the safe room, Iris could hear their voices coming through the wall speaker.
"Roman," Viktor Vanev said, his thick Eastern European accent cutting through the sound of the rain outside. "You should have taken the eight million from Hal. It was a generous retirement package."
Roman didn't raise his gun. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his posture relaxed, his broad shoulders squared. "You're on my property, Viktor. You killed two of my men at the gate."
Viktor gave a cold, ugly smile. "Your men were sloppy. Just like your CFO. Where is the girl, Roman? Give me the analyst and the hard drive, and I’ll leave you alive to explain the mess to your board of directors."
Roman looked at Viktor, then at the two armed men standing behind him. A low, dark laugh rumbled in Roman's chest—a sound so filled with genuine, terrifying amusement that Viktor’s smile faltered slightly.
"You think you came here to bargain, Viktor?" Roman asked softly.
"I came here to secure my business," Viktor snapped, raising his pistol.
"Your business ended an hour ago," Roman said calmly. "The coast guard seized The Star of Odessa fifteen minutes ago. Your liquid accounts in Zurich were frozen by federal court order ten minutes ago. And my men just closed the iron gates at the end of my driveway."
Viktor’s eyes widened slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"I didn't turn off the main power, Viktor," Roman said, stepping forward one slow, deliberate pace. "I did. I wanted you inside my house. Where there are no federal judges, no reporters, and no rules."
Roman raised his left hand and clicked a small remote trigger hidden in his palm.
Instantly, heavy steel security shutters slammed down over every window and exterior door in the villa with a series of deafening, thunderous crashes, locking the entire building down into an impenetrable steel box.
The lights in the hallway flashed back on—bright, blinding halogen floodlights that filled the corridor with searing white glare.
Viktor and his men recoiled, blinded by the sudden light after wearing night-vision gear.
In that single second of total disorientation, Roman moved.
He fired three rapid shots. The two men behind Viktor dropped to the marble floor before they could raise their rifles.
Viktor lunged sideways, firing two wild shots that shattered a large mirror on the hallway wall, then scrambled into the adjacent dining room, blood dripping from his shoulder where one of Roman's bullets had grazed him.
Iris watched the monitor in absolute awe and terror as Roman walked steadily toward the dining room entrance, his gun ready, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire.
"Viktor!" Roman’s voice echoed through the house like thunder. "You touched my people. You cut my girl."
A burst of automatic fire came from inside the dining room, wood splinters flying from the doorway.
Roman didn't even flinch. He leaned around the doorframe, fired twice, and stepped inside.
A heavy crash sounded from inside the room, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the hardwood floor, and then... complete, absolute silence.
Iris held her breath, her fingers dug deep into her palm, staring at the monitor feed of the empty hallway.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty.
The silence inside the house was deafening, broken only by the sound of the rain beating against the steel shutters outside.
Then, the heavy steel door of the safe room clicked.
The electronic lock disengaged with a long, pneumatic hiss.
Slowly, the steel door swung open.
Roman stood in the doorway.
His cashmere sweater was torn at the shoulder, his shirt was stained with gun oil and drywall dust, and a thin line of blood ran down his left temple from a flying glass shard.
In his hand, he held his empty pistol, the slide locked back.
He looked at Iris sitting on the bench inside the red room.
May you like
His dark eyes searched her face, checking every inch of her for harm, before the cold, terrifying mask of the crime boss dissolved completely, leaving behind just the man who loved her.
"It's over, Iris," Roman whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "It's safe now."
