Chapter 1 - The Boardroom Exit
The single word sat on the illuminated screen of Roman’s secondary phone like a drop of blood on white silk.
He did not wait for the lieutenants to finish their argument about the waterfront union bribes.
He reached out with a steady hand and picked up the device from the polished mahogany table.
Around him, four of the most dangerous syndicate bosses in the Midwest fell completely silent at the shift in his posture.
Men who commanded thousands of street soldiers knew instantly when the temperature in a room dropped to freezing.
Roman stood up from his leather executive chair without making a single sound.
He did not offer an explanation to the men who had flown in from Detroit and Cleveland for this summit.
He simply buttoned his bespoke charcoal suit jacket and looked toward the heavy steel doors of the vault.
“We are done for the day,” Roman said, his voice devoid of any warmth or negotiable inflection.
One of the lieutenants, a hard-faced man named Viktor who managed the docks, opened his mouth to protest the sudden interruption.
He closed it just as quickly when Roman’s cold, gray eyes flicked toward him for a fraction of a second.
There was violence lurking behind that gaze, a restrained brutality that had taken generations of Russian winters to forge.
Roman walked past the long table, his leather shoes making measured, deliberate sounds against the concrete floor of the underground bunker.
Nikolai was already waiting by the reinforced elevator doors, his hand resting casually near the holster concealed beneath his jacket.
The doors slid open with a heavy hydraulic hiss, revealing the mirrored interior of the private lift.
Roman stepped inside first, keeping his eyes fixed on the metallic reflections of his own rigid posture.
Nikolai followed immediately, swiping a high-security keycard that sent the elevator speeding toward the surface level of the Chicago high-rise.
“How long have you had the location?” Roman asked, the words cutting through the hum of the rising cab.
“The confirmation came through twelve minutes ago from our handler in the Pacific Northwest,” Nikolai answered smoothly.
“She is in a coastal town three hours west of Seattle, working under her mother’s maiden name.”
Roman felt his jaw clench so hard that an ache radiated down into his neck and shoulders.
Eight months of absolute silence, eight months of staring out at the frozen Lake Michigan skyline with an empty chest.
The elevator doors parted at the private garage level, where three armored black SUVs sat idling with their headlights cutting through the dimness.
Roman walked directly toward the lead vehicle, his mind already calculating flight times, weather patterns, and security logistics.
May you like
He had told her to leave to save her life from a war she never asked to be part of.
Now, that war was finally over, and Roman Volkov was going to reclaim the only thing he had ever truly regretted losing.
