Chapter 6 - The Final Chess Move
The sun had barely crested the horizon over the Hudson River when Roman’s private tactical transport touched down on the private helipad behind the Westchester estate.
Inside the tactical command room, maps of New York Harbor were spread across a massive oak table, surrounded by laptops, satellite feeds, and tactical gear. Twelve of Roman’s most trusted captains stood at attention around the room, their faces grim and set for war.
I stood near the corner of the room, wearing a black tactical turtleneck and cargo pants Roman’s quartermaster had provided, watching as the Caldwell syndicate prepared to tear Manhattan apart to find one man.
“We have a confirmed location on Marcus Vance,” Carlo announced, stepping up to the tactical map and tapping a glowing red dot near an abandoned shipping warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn. “He’s holued up with forty mercenaries, waiting for confirmation that our western shipping terminal has been completely destabilized.”
Roman stood at the head of the table, his arms resting flat on the mahogany surface, his dark eyes scanning the map with chilling precision. He looked like an apex predator scenting blood in the water.
“We don’t raid him,” Roman commanded, his voice ice-cold.
Carlo blinked in surprise. “Boss? You said we’re ending him today! If we don't hit the warehouse—s—”
“We don't raid him because Marcus expects a frontal assault,” Roman interrupted, standing up to his full height. He pulled his black leather gloves over his knuckles, tightening the straps with a sharp snap. “He wants a war in the streets of Brooklyn so he can slip away in the chaos. Instead... I’m going to walk right through his front door alone.”
“Alone?!” I blurted out, stepping forward from the corner of the room. “Are you out of your mind?! There are forty armed men in that warehouse! They’ll shred you to pieces!”
Roman turned his head, his grey eyes locking onto mine across the room. A subtle, reassuring warmth softened his harsh features.
“They won't shred me, Tessa,” Roman said quietly. “Because while Marcus is busy looking at me, my strike team will be dismantling his financial servers from the inside out. Once I take his money, his men won't lift a finger to protect him. Loyalty in the underworld only lasts as long as the paycheck clears.”
“I’m going with you,” I said, my voice leaving zero room for argument.
The entire room went dead silent. The twelve hardened mafia captains stared at me as if I had just announced I was going to jump out of an airplane without a parachute.
“Absolutely not,” Roman snapped, taking a sharp step forward. “This isn't a corporate audit, Tessa. This is a wet-work extraction in a combat zone. You are staying right here in this safehouse.”
“No, I am not,” I fired back, marching right up to him until I was standing toe-to-toe with New York’s most feared criminal mastermind. I didn't back down an inch. “Marcus Vance ruined my family. He put my brother in a wheelchair. He is the reason I spent three years scrubbing floors, skipping meals, and breaking my back working overtime for you! You think I’m going to sit here in a comfortable armchair while you settle my score? Think again, Roman.”
Roman stared down at me, his chest heaving as a silent, fierce battle raged behind his grey eyes. He wanted to protect me; he wanted to wrap me in glass and keep me away from every ugly piece of his dark world. But looking into my eyes, he saw the exact same stubborn, unyielding fire that burned inside his own chest.
Slowly, painfully, Roman let out a defeated exhale.
“If you come with me,” Roman whispered, his voice dangerously low, “you stay behind my shoulder every single second. You do not touch a weapon. You do not engage. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” I replied firmly.
May you like
Roman turned to Carlo, who was standing nearby with his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. “Get the chopper ready. We leave in five minutes.”
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