Chapter 8 - The Threat
Before Clara could process his words, Roman’s phone vibrated violently.
He frowned, pulling it from his pocket.
It was his head of security, Marcus.
"Speak," Roman said, his tone instantly shifting from a lover to a mob boss.
"Boss, we have a massive problem," Marcus reported, his voice tense.
"The snowplows just cleared the main avenue."
"And?" Roman pressed.
"And three armored vans just pulled up to the emergency room entrance."
"It’s the Volkov syndicate."
Roman’s blood ran cold.
Dimitri Volkov was his biggest rival in the city.
Volkov had been looking for a weakness to exploit for years.
Somehow, the Russian boss had found out Roman was isolated in a hospital.
"How many men?" Roman asked, standing up and moving toward the window.
"At least thirty, heavily armed," Marcus replied.
"They are demanding to come in, saying they need medical attention."
"It's a breach tactic."
Roman stared down at the street far below.
He could see the black vans contrasting sharply against the white snow.
"Lock the blast doors," Roman ordered.
"Arm every man we have."
"Nobody gets past the lobby."
"If they draw a weapon, kill them all."
He hung up the phone and turned back to Clara.
She was watching him, her eyes wide with fear.
"What is happening?" she asked.
"Just business," Roman lied smoothly.
He pulled a heavy silver handgun from the holster under his arm.
He checked the magazine, the metallic click echoing in the quiet room.
"Roman, please," Clara begged.
"Not here."
"Not around my son."
May you like
"Our son," Roman corrected her gently.
"And I promise you, Clara, no one will ever touch him."
