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<\/div>\nRain lashed against the heavy velvet drapes of Caf\u00e9 Victoria, turning the cobblestones of Hanover Street into slick black mirrors reflecting the neon signs of Boston\u2019s North End. Inside, the air smelled of espresso, expensive cologne, and underlying fear.<\/p>\n
Sienna Brooks adjusted her apron, the starched fabric digging into her waist. She had been working the dinner shift at Victoria\u2019s for 6 months, long enough to know the unspoken rules.<\/p>\n
Rule number 1: do not look at the table in the back corner.<\/p>\n
Rule number 2: never interrupt the men when they stop talking.<\/p>\n
Rule number 3: if the kitchen staff suddenly disappears for a smoke break all at once, get out.<\/p>\n
Tonight, the kitchen was empty.<\/p>\n
Sienna picked up a heavy silver tray, loading it with 3 espressos and a glass of sambuca neat, with 3 coffee beans floating in it. The 3 beans symbolized health, wealth, and happiness, a bitter joke considering who had ordered it.<\/p>\n
Roman Castellion sat at the corner table, his back to the wall. He was younger than the other dons who frequented the place, maybe 32, with the kind of sharp, predatory handsomeness that made women stare and men check their wallets. He was the underboss of the Castellion crime family, the man who controlled the unions from the Seaport to Southie. He wore a charcoal 3-piece suit that cost more than Sienna\u2019s car, and he was currently laughing at something his bodyguard, Enzo, was saying.<\/p>\n
Sienna moved toward the table. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.<\/p>\n
She had seen him.<\/p>\n
Ten minutes earlier, a man had entered through the service door. He was not a delivery guy. He wore a janitor\u2019s uniform 2 sizes too big, and his boots were military-grade tactical, not nonslip kitchen shoes. He was currently standing in the service alcove, screwing a suppressor onto a SIG Sauer P226.<\/p>\n
Sienna had grown up in South Boston. Her father, a low-rent bookie named Mickey, had taught her to spot a setup before she could read.<\/p>\n
Look at the hands, Si, he used to say before he disappeared into the Charles River. A working man has rough hands. A shooter has calluses on his trigger finger and calm eyes.<\/p>\n
The janitor had dead eyes.<\/p>\n
She reached the table. Roman did not look up. He was busy peeling the foil off a pack of cigarettes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour coffee, Mr. Castellion,\u201d Sienna said.<\/p>\n
Her voice did not shake. She was a good liar. She had to be to survive that city.<\/p>\n
Roman looked up then. His eyes were dark, almost black, framed by thick lashes. He paused, lighter halfway to his cigarette. He saw something in her face. He was an apex predator. He recognized the scent of adrenaline.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re new,\u201d Roman said, his voice a low baritone that seemed to vibrate through the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cSix months,\u201d she corrected.<\/p>\n
She placed the sambuca down. As she leaned in to place the espresso, she invaded his personal space, a cardinal sin in his world. Enzo, the bodyguard, tensed, his hand dipping toward his jacket.<\/p>\n
Sienna did not pull away. She leaned closer, her lips inches from Roman\u2019s ear, the smell of her vanilla perfume mixing with his tobacco.<\/p>\n
\u201cKitchen is empty,\u201d she murmured, the words barely breath. \u201cShooter in the service alcove. Run when I drop the tray.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman froze for a split second.<\/p>\n
Time seemed to suspend.<\/p>\n
He did not look at the service alcove. He did not look at Enzo. He looked directly into Sienna\u2019s hazel eyes, assessing the truth. He saw the terror there, but he also saw the resolve.<\/p>\n
He gave the slightest nod.<\/p>\n
One millimeter.<\/p>\n
Sienna straightened, her heart screaming. She turned, taking 1 step back as if she had forgotten something. She gripped the heavy silver tray with both hands. It was solid brass underneath the plating, heavy enough to dent a floor.<\/p>\n
The service door creaked.<\/p>\n
The janitor stepped out, raising the gun.<\/p>\n
Sienna let go.<\/p>\n
Clang.<\/p>\n
Crash.<\/p>\n
The sound was deafening in the quiet restaurant. The heavy tray hit the terrazzo floor, shattering the china cups. The noise was like a gunshot itself.<\/p>\n
Simultaneously, Roman moved.<\/p>\n
He did not stand. He kicked the heavy oak table upward. The table flipped, acting as a shield just as the thip-thip of suppressed gunfire chewed into the wood where his chest had been seconds earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cDown,\u201d Roman roared, grabbing Sienna\u2019s wrist and yanking her behind the overturned table.<\/p>\n
Enzo was not so lucky. He had stood to draw his weapon, taking 2 rounds to the chest. He collapsed backward, knocking over a wine rack. Red wine and blood pooled together on the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho are you?\u201d Roman growled, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from an ankle holster.<\/p>\n
He checked the cylinder.<\/p>\n
Five rounds.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust the waitress,\u201d Sienna gasped, pressing herself into the carpet.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, waitress,\u201d Roman said, his eyes scanning the room as glass rained down around them. \u201cYou just quit your job.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bullets were turning the high-end Italian upholstery into Swiss cheese. The shooter was not alone. Two more men had burst through the front entrance wearing balaclavas and wielding compact submachine guns.<\/p>\n
\u201cBack door,\u201d Roman yelled over the noise.<\/p>\n
He popped up, firing 2 shots. One struck the janitor in the shoulder, spinning him around.<\/p>\n
\u201cMove. Move.\u201d<\/p>\n
He kept a grip on Sienna\u2019s wrist, his hand like iron. They scrambled on hands and knees through the debris of the dining room toward the kitchen swing doors. Sienna slipped on spilled wine, but Roman hauled her up, practically throwing her through the stainless steel doors.<\/p>\n
The kitchen was silent, ghostly empty. A pot of marinara sauce bubbled abandoned on the stove.<\/p>\n
\u201cOut the delivery exit,\u201d Roman commanded.<\/p>\n
He shoved her ahead of him, turning to fire 1 shot blindly through the swing doors to keep the shooters\u2019 heads down.<\/p>\n
They burst out into the alleyway. The rain was torrential now. A black Audi RS7 was parked illegally near the dumpster.<\/p>\n
Roman\u2019s car.<\/p>\n
\u201cKeys.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman patted his pocket, swearing.<\/p>\n
Enzo had the keys.<\/p>\n
The back door of the restaurant flew open.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet in the truck,\u201d Sienna screamed, pointing to a rusted blue Ford F-150 parked 3 spots down. \u201cIt\u2019s mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman did not argue. They sprinted for the truck. Sienna fumbled with her keys, her hands slick with rain and adrenaline. A bullet sparked off the brick wall inches from her face, sending stone fragments into her cheek.<\/p>\n
She did not flinch.<\/p>\n
She jammed the key in, twisted, and the old engine roared to life with a cough and a sputter. Roman dove into the passenger seat just as Sienna threw the truck into reverse.<\/p>\n
She slammed the gas.<\/p>\n
The heavy truck careened backward, smashing into the shins of the 1st gunman exiting the alley. He screamed as he was pinned between the Ford\u2019s bumper and the brick wall.<\/p>\n
Sienna shifted to drive, spinning the wheel. Tires squealed on wet asphalt, and they shot out of the alley onto Hanover Street, fishtailing wildly.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake a left. Get on Storrow Drive,\u201d Roman barked, looking in the side mirror.<\/p>\n
A black SUV was already peeling out of the alley behind them.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know the roads,\u201d Sienna snapped back.<\/p>\n
She ran a red light, narrowly missing a taxi.<\/p>\n
Roman looked at her, really looked at her for the 1st time since the chaos began. She was soaking wet, her waitress uniform ruined, a smear of blood on her cheekbone. She was driving like a getaway pilot, checking mirrors, anticipating turns.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you learn to drive like this?\u201d Roman asked, reloading his revolver with loose rounds from his pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy dad owed money to the Irish in Southie,\u201d she said, swerving around a stopped bus. \u201cWe moved a lot. Usually in the middle of the night. Usually fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho was your dad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMickey the Mouse Brooks.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman actually laughed, a harsh, barking sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cMickey the Mouse. The guy who tried to sell fake lottery tickets to the Patriarca family in Providence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s him,\u201d Sienna said, eyes glued to the rearview mirror. \u201cThe SUV is gaining. They have more horsepower.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, but we have heavy steel,\u201d Roman said.<\/p>\n
He rolled down the window. Wind and rain howled into the cab.<\/p>\n
\u201cKeep it steady.\u201d<\/p>\n
He leaned out the window, rain plastering his dark hair to his skull. He took aim at the pursuing SUV. He did not fire wildly. He waited.<\/p>\n
One second.<\/p>\n
Two.<\/p>\n
Bang.<\/p>\n
The front tire of the SUV blew out. The vehicle swerved violently to the right, jumped the curb, and smashed into a lamppost in a shower of sparks and glass.<\/p>\n
Roman pulled himself back inside and rolled up the window. He looked at the gun, then at Sienna.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need to ditch this truck,\u201d he said calmly, as if discussing the weather. \u201cThey\u2019ll have the plates.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy tips are in the glove box,\u201d Sienna said, her voice finally starting to tremble.<\/p>\n
The adrenaline was fading, leaving the cold reality.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s $200.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman reached into his jacket, pulled out a money clip thick enough to choke a horse, and tossed it onto the dashboard. It slid toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s $5,000,\u201d he said. \u201cConsider it a severance package.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna glanced at the money, then back at the road.<\/p>\n
She did not touch it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want your money. I want to know why Victor Kovac is trying to kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman stiffened.<\/p>\n
The air in the truck instantly grew 10 degrees colder. He turned slowly to face her, the gun resting casually on his thigh.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know that name?\u201d he asked, his voice lethal.<\/p>\n
Sienna gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause before I worked at Victoria\u2019s, I worked at the Blue Velvet, Kovac\u2019s club. And I know what he does to girls who hear things they shouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman studied her profile. This was not just a random act of kindness. She had not saved him because it was the right thing to do. She had saved him because she needed a weapon to use against Kovac.<\/p>\n
\u201cPull over,\u201d Roman said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said pull over. Under the bridge.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna pulled the truck onto the shoulder beneath the Zakim Bridge. The sodium lights cast long orange shadows. The rain drummed relentlessly on the roof.<\/p>\n
Roman turned his body toward her.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t save me to protect me, Sienna. You saved me because you want Kovac dead. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna turned off the engine.<\/p>\n
The silence was heavy. She looked at Roman, her eyes hard.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t just hurt girls, Roman. He took my sister, Bella. She disappeared from his club 3 years ago. The police said she ran away. I know she didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman watched her. He knew the look in her eyes. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning.<\/p>\n
Vengeance.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf Kovac took her,\u201d Roman said quietly, \u201cshe\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d Sienna whispered, her voice cracking. \u201cI don\u2019t want to find her alive. I want to find where he buried her, and I want to put a bullet in his head. You\u2019re the only one strong enough to get close to him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman nodded slowly. He understood this transaction. It was not charity.<\/p>\n
It was business.<\/p>\n
\u201cDrive to Chelsea,\u201d Roman commanded. \u201cI have a safe house. We need to get off the street before Kovac finds out he missed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then?\u201d Sienna asked, starting the engine.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then,\u201d Roman said, looking out at the rainy city skyline, \u201cwe go to war.\u201d<\/p>\n
Part 2<\/p>\n
The safe house was not a house at all. It was an abandoned textile mill on the edge of Chelsea, converted into loft apartments that never went to market. It was a fortress of brick and iron overlooking the murky Mystic River.<\/p>\n
Roman guided Sienna through the freight elevator, punching a code into a keypad that looked decades old but beeped with modern digital precision. The heavy doors slid open to reveal a sprawling industrial space: leather furniture, a wall of monitors, and a medical station in the corner.<\/p>\n
\u201cSit.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman pointed to a couch. He went straight to a wall safe, spinning the dial. He pulled out a fresh shirt and a heavy first aid kit.<\/p>\n
Sienna sank into the leather. Her legs felt like jelly.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you live here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI exist here,\u201d Roman said.<\/p>\n
He stripped off his ruined suit jacket and the blood-soaked dress shirt underneath. Sienna looked away, then looked back. She could not help it.<\/p>\n
His torso was a map of violence. Scars, some jagged and some surgical, crisscrossed his olive skin. A tattoo of St. Michael the Archangel covered his back, the sword tip disappearing into his waistband.<\/p>\n
He sat on the coffee table in front of her, opening the medical kit.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re bleeding.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna touched her cheek. Her fingers came away red.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a scratch from the brick.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cInfection kills as fast as a bullet in this town,\u201d he said, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad.<\/p>\n
He leaned in. His hands, which had fired a gun minutes earlier with steady precision, were surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the cut on her cheek.<\/p>\n
For a moment, the distance between them collapsed. Sienna looked at his eyes, dark, guarded, ancient.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy did Kovac move on you tonight?\u201d Sienna asked, wincing slightly at the sting of the alcohol. \u201cThe families have a truce.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTruces are just pauses between wars,\u201d Roman said, applying a butterfly bandage. \u201cKovac is Russian. I\u2019m Italian. We share territory in the shipping yards. Last week, a container of his merchandise went missing. He thinks I took it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman smirked, a cruel, handsome expression.<\/p>\n
\u201cI burned it. It was girls, Sienna. He was shipping girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna\u2019s breath hitched.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike Bella.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike Bella,\u201d he confirmed. \u201cI don\u2019t deal in flesh. I deal in vices. Gambling. Numbers. Booze. But I don\u2019t sell people. Kovac crossed a line. I burned his profit. Tonight was his receipt.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna felt a strange warmth spread through her chest. He was not a good man. She knew that. He was a killer.<\/p>\n
But he had a line.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy phone,\u201d Roman said, standing abruptly.<\/p>\n
He walked to the bank of monitors.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need to make a call. Don\u2019t answer the door. Don\u2019t go near the windows.\u201d<\/p>\n
He picked up a burner phone and dialed. Sienna watched him pace.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s me,\u201d Roman said into the phone. \u201cI\u2019m out. Enzo is dead. No, it was a setup. Listen to me, Marco. The kitchen staff was cleared out. Someone on the inside gave the green light. I want names. No, don\u2019t tell the boss yet. If there\u2019s a leak, it could be coming from the top.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hung up and threw the phone onto the couch. He ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it bad?\u201d Sienna asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s worse than bad. To hit me in Victoria\u2019s, that requires permission or extreme arrogance.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman walked to a sideboard and poured 2 glasses of whiskey. He handed 1 to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cDrink. It\u2019ll settle the nerves.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna took a sip. It burned, but it grounded her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo we\u2019re alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe?\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman raised an eyebrow.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is no we, Sienna. Tomorrow morning, I\u2019m putting you on a plane to London. I have contacts there. You\u2019ll have a new name, a job.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Sienna said, setting the glass down hard.<\/p>\n
Roman stepped closer, looming over her.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said no. I\u2019m not going to London. I\u2019m staying here. You need me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI need a soldier, not a waitress.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou need a ghost,\u201d Sienna countered, standing to meet his gaze.<\/p>\n
She was a foot shorter than him, but she did not back down.<\/p>\n
\u201cKovac knows your men. He knows your soldiers. He doesn\u2019t know me. I was invisible tonight until I dropped that tray. I can get into places you can\u2019t. I can get into the Blue Velvet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman laughed, but it was devoid of humor.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to walk back into the lion\u2019s den? He\u2019ll kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe won\u2019t,\u201d she said. \u201cBecause I\u2019m applying for a job. They\u2019re always hiring. I go in. I find his office. I find out where he keeps his records. I find out where Bella is. And I tell you where he sleeps.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman stared at her. He saw the desperation, but he also saw the cunning. She was Mickey the Mouse\u2019s daughter, all right.<\/p>\n
She was gambling her life on a long shot.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you get caught,\u201d Roman said, his voice dropping to a whisper, \u201cI can\u2019t save you. If you go in there, you\u2019re on your own until the shooting starts.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been on my own for a long time, Roman,\u201d she said softly.<\/p>\n
Roman looked at her lips, then her eyes. The tension in the room shifted from danger to something electric. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re crazy,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m motivated,\u201d she whispered back.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, the monitors on the wall flashed red.<\/p>\n
A silent alarm.<\/p>\n
Roman spun around, his eyes locking on the screen showing the external feed. Three black SUVs were pulling up to the chain-link fence of the mill.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d Sienna breathed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe phone,\u201d Roman realized, his face paling. \u201cThe burner phone. Marco. He tracked the signal.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was not Kovac who had set him up. Roman looked at Sienna, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was my brother,\u201d Roman said. \u201cMarco is the only one who had the frequency for that phone.\u201d<\/p>\n
He grabbed his SIG Sauer and tossed a smaller 9-millimeter Glock to Sienna. She caught it, her hands surprisingly steady.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know how to use that?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cPoint and shoot,\u201d she said. \u201cSafety off.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d Roman said, racking the slide of his weapon. \u201cBecause the war just came to us. Stay behind me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He killed the lights in the loft, plunging them into darkness.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I drop the tray,\u201d Sienna whispered in the dark, echoing the moment that started it all.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Roman\u2019s voice came from the shadows, fierce and protective. \u201cThis time we don\u2019t run. This time we hunt.\u201d<\/p>\n
The loft went pitch black, save for the strobing red light of the silent alarm on the far wall. The hum of the refrigerator died as Roman cut the main breaker, plunging the massive industrial space into suffocating silence.<\/p>\n
Sienna crouched behind a heavy leather armchair, the cold steel of the Glock 19 pressing against her palm. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. She had grown up around low-level wiseguys, men who broke thumbs for late payments.<\/p>\n
But this was different.<\/p>\n
This was war.<\/p>\n
\u201cThree bogeys coming up the east stairwell,\u201d Roman said, his voice a ghost in the darkness somewhere to her left. \u201cTwo more on the freight elevator. They\u2019re pinching us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe elevator is a death trap,\u201d Sienna whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. \u201cIf they open those doors, they have no cover.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t open them,\u201d Roman replied, the sound of him checking his magazine audible in the quiet. \u201cThey\u2019ll blow them.\u201d<\/p>\n
A second later, a dull thump vibrated through the floorboards. The heavy steel doors of the freight elevator bowed outward, smoke curling from the seams. The lock melted, and the doors were kicked open. Two figures in tactical gear spilled into the room, their weapons mounted with flashlights that cut through the gloom like lightsabers.<\/p>\n
Roman did not wait.<\/p>\n
He fired 3 times.<\/p>\n
The shots were deafening in the enclosed space. The 1st attacker dropped, his Kevlar vest absorbing the rounds, but the impact knocked the wind out of him. The 2nd man scrambled for cover behind a granite kitchen island.<\/p>\n
\u201cMove, Sienna. Go to the north wall,\u201d Roman roared, abandoning stealth.<\/p>\n
Bullets began to chew up the furniture. Sienna scrambled on her hands and knees, glass shards from a shattered vase slicing into her palms. She reached the brick wall and pressed herself into the shadows behind a heavy velvet curtain.<\/p>\n
From her vantage point, she saw the stairwell door burst open.<\/p>\n
Three more men.<\/p>\n
They moved with military precision.<\/p>\n
Roman was pinned down behind the overturned sofa. He was returning fire, but he was suppressed.<\/p>\n
One of the men from the stairwell unclipped a grenade from his belt.<\/p>\n
Sienna\u2019s heart stopped.<\/p>\n
If he threw that, Roman was dead.<\/p>\n
She did not think. She did not calculate. She only remembered Mickey\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n
Don\u2019t look at the target, Si. Look at the space the target is moving into.<\/p>\n
She raised the Glock, gripping it with both hands to steady the shake.<\/p>\n
The man pulled the pin.<\/p>\n
He wound up his arm.<\/p>\n
Sienna fired.<\/p>\n
She missed the man, but the bullet smashed into a breaker box on the wall directly behind him, sending a shower of sparks raining down. The man flinched, startled by the explosion of electricity. His throw went wide.<\/p>\n
The grenade skittered across the polished concrete floor, rolling away from Roman and toward the kitchen island where the 1st attacker was hiding.<\/p>\n
\u201cCover,\u201d Roman yelled.<\/p>\n
Boom.<\/p>\n
The explosion blew out the windows and sent a shock wave through the loft. The kitchen island disintegrated into shrapnel. The attacker behind it ceased to be a problem.<\/p>\n
Roman used the chaos to move. He was a blur of violence, closing the distance to the stairwell team. He engaged them at close quarters, using the pistol like a hammer as much as a gun. It was brutal, efficient, and terrifying to watch.<\/p>\n
Silence returned as quickly as it had left, replaced only by the ringing in Sienna\u2019s ears and the smell of cordite and pulverized drywall.<\/p>\n
Roman stood amid the wreckage, his chest heaving. He walked to 1 of the downed men, the one who had tried to throw the grenade. The man was groaning, clutching a shattered leg.<\/p>\n
Roman grabbed him by the tactical vest and hauled him up. He ripped the black mask off.<\/p>\n
It was a face Sienna did not know.<\/p>\n
Roman evidently did.<\/p>\n
His expression shifted from rage to hollow, cold despair.<\/p>\n
\u201cDante,\u201d Roman spat. \u201cYou used to drive my mother to church on Sundays.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man, Dante, coughed blood.<\/p>\n
\u201cStrictly business, Roman. You know how it is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho sent you?\u201d Roman asked, though he already knew the answer.<\/p>\n
He pressed the barrel of his gun to Dante\u2019s kneecap.<\/p>\n
\u201cMarco?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dante gasped.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said you were weak. He said you were letting the Russians walk all over us. He made a deal with Kovac.\u201d<\/p>\n
The betrayal hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.<\/p>\n
Marco Castellion, Roman\u2019s own brother, had not just sold him out. He had partnered with the enemy to do it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is he?\u201d Roman demanded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe shipyard,\u201d Dante wheezed. \u201cMidnight. Meeting with Kovac to finalize the territory split. They think you\u2019re already dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman stared at the man for a long moment. Then he pistol-whipped him across the temple, knocking him unconscious.<\/p>\n
He would not kill him.<\/p>\n
Not yet.<\/p>\n
He needed a witness later.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have to go,\u201d Roman said, turning to Sienna.<\/p>\n
He looked at her, really seeing her. She was covered in dust, holding a gun, and she had not run.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou saved my life again,\u201d he said, his voice rough.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re even,\u201d she whispered, lowering the gun. \u201cNow get me out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n
They took the fire escape down into the alley. The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and glistening. They did not go to a car. Too risky. Roman led her to the riverbank, where a nondescript fishing boat was tied up.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet in,\u201d he said, untying the ropes.<\/p>\n
As they drifted out into the Mystic River, the engine putting softly, Sienna sat on the wooden bench, hugging her knees. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving her shivering.<\/p>\n
Roman took off his jacket, a new one he had grabbed from the loft, and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled of him: cedar, gunpowder, and rain.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy brother,\u201d Roman said, staring at the dark water. \u201cWe grew up in the same room. I took a knife for him when we were teenagers, and he sells me to a Russian butcher for shipping containers.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna looked at his profile. It was etched in stone, hard and unforgiving, but she saw the crack in the armor.<\/p>\n
\u201cFamily is tricky,\u201d Sienna said softly. \u201cMy dad loved me, but he loved gambling more. In the end, he bet our rent money on a horse named Second Chance and lost. We slept in the car for a month. Betrayal doesn\u2019t always look like a gun, Roman. Sometimes it looks like empty promises.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman looked at her. The boat rocked gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to kill him, Sienna. My own brother. I have to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
And she did. In his world, there was no forgiveness for this.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut not tonight. Tonight, we disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know a place,\u201d Roman said, steering the boat toward the darker industrial docks of South Boston. \u201cAn old boxing gym in Southie. The owner, Old Sal, owes me his life. No phones, no cameras. We regroup there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then?\u201d Sienna asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then,\u201d Roman said, his eyes catching the reflection of the moon, cold and sharp, \u201cwe act on the intel. Marco and Kovac are meeting at the shipyard, but we can\u2019t hit them there. Too much security. We need to strike where they feel safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Blue Velvet,\u201d Sienna said.<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly.\u201d Roman nodded. \u201cKovac keeps his leverage there. His blackmail. His records. If Marco is working with him, the proof of their deal is in Kovac\u2019s office. I need that proof to show the Commission. If I kill a boss without proof of treason, the other families will hunt me down. I need the ledger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I\u2019m the only one who can get it,\u201d Sienna said.<\/p>\n
Roman did not answer immediately. He looked at her, his expression torn.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to send you in there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have a choice,\u201d she said firmly. \u201cAnd neither do I. This ends with Kovac dead. Or it doesn\u2019t end.\u201d<\/p>\n
Old Sal\u2019s gym smelled of stale sweat, leather, and wintergreen oil. It was a relic of a bygone era, tucked away in a basement off Dorchester Avenue. For 2 days, it became their war room.<\/p>\n
Sienna slept on a cot in the back office while Roman slept on a mat in the ring. The intimacy of the situation was suffocating. They ate takeout Chinese food on the floor, mapping out the layout of the Blue Velvet on a piece of cardboard.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe club has 3 levels,\u201d Sienna explained, using a chopstick to point. \u201cMain floor is general admission. Bar. Dance floor. Basement is VIP. That\u2019s the Red Room. Invite only. High rollers, politicians, and mobsters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the office?\u201d Roman asked.<\/p>\n
He was doing push-ups while she spoke, a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. He never seemed to stop moving, as if stopping would let the rage catch up to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cTop floor. Penthouse level. Private elevator access only. Key card required.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you need to swipe a key card from a manager,\u201d Roman said, standing and wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot a manager,\u201d Sienna corrected. \u201cKovac carries the master key. I\u2019ve seen him use it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have to get close to Kovac. Physically close.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can handle him,\u201d Sienna said, though her stomach twisted at the thought.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s a monster, Sienna. You don\u2019t know what he does to women.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know exactly what he does,\u201d she snapped, her voice rising. \u201cHe took Bella. I\u2019m not going in there blind, Roman. I\u2019m going in there angry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman walked to her. The air between them crackled. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse point.<\/p>\n
It was hammering.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf he touches you,\u201d Roman whispered, his voice dark and possessive, \u201cI will burn this city down to get to him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna looked up at him.<\/p>\n
The connection was undeniable. It was not just survival anymore.<\/p>\n
It was gravity.<\/p>\n
\u201cTeach me what I need to know,\u201d she said breathlessly. \u201cDon\u2019t protect me. Arm me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The transformation took 3 hours with the help of a local girl who owed Old Sal a favor. Sienna changed everything. The waitress uniform was gone. In its place was a dress that looked like it was made of liquid onyx: backless, plunging neckline, and a slit that went up to her thigh. Her honey-brown hair was dyed a stark, glossy black and styled in loose waves. Her makeup was sharp, accentuating her cheekbones and giving her eyes a feline, dangerous look.<\/p>\n
She stepped out of the bathroom into the gym. Roman was loading a magazine into a fresh pistol. He looked up, and the magazine clattered to the floor.<\/p>\n
He stood frozen.<\/p>\n
He looked at her not as a tactical asset, but as a man looking at a woman who could ruin him.<\/p>\n
\u201cToo much?\u201d Sienna asked, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cDangerous,\u201d Roman murmured, walking around her. \u201cYou look like trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKovac loves trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate diamond choker.<\/p>\n
\u201cTurn around,\u201d he commanded.<\/p>\n
Sienna turned, sweeping her hair up. Roman fastened the clasp. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a microphone in the central diamond,\u201d he whispered against her ear. \u201cAnd a tracker in the clasp. I\u2019ll be in a van 2 blocks away. I hear everything. If you say the word rain, I\u2019m coming in. Front door, back door, through the wall, doesn\u2019t matter. I\u2019m coming.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRain,\u201d she repeated.<\/p>\n
\u201cTurn around.\u201d<\/p>\n
She faced him. He looked at her lips. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.<\/p>\n
She wanted him to.<\/p>\n
The pull was magnetic.<\/p>\n
But he stepped back, his jaw tightening.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go get your job,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The Blue Velvet was a fortress of neon and bass. The line wrapped around the block, but Sienna, now going by Veronica, walked straight to the bouncer.<\/p>\n
She did not ask to come in. She looked at him with bored, arrogant eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here for the open call,\u201d she lied smoothly. \u201cVictor is expecting me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The bouncer hesitated. She looked the part. High-end. Expensive. Trouble.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait here,\u201d he grunted into his headset.<\/p>\n
A moment later, the velvet rope unhooked.<\/p>\n
Sienna walked in.<\/p>\n
The bass hit her chest like a physical blow. The club was a sea of bodies, strobe lights, and expensive alcohol. She made her way to the bar, scanning the room.<\/p>\n
She spotted the floor manager, a sharp-faced woman named Katya. Sienna approached her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need a job,\u201d Sienna said over the music.<\/p>\n
Katya looked her up and down, sneering.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re full, honey. Go back to the strip mall.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna leaned in.<\/p>\n
\u201cI worked at Le L in Paris for 2 years. I know how to mix a Sazerac. I know which politicians like their scotch neat, and I know how to keep my mouth shut when the envelopes are passed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Katya paused.<\/p>\n
Le L was a legendary mob-run club in France. It was a lie, of course. Sienna had read about it in a magazine.<\/p>\n
But it was a good lie.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome with me,\u201d Katya said.<\/p>\n
She led Sienna not to an office, but to the VIP section, the Red Room. It was quieter there. Plush velvet booths. Dim lighting. Men in suits who cost more than Sienna\u2019s lifetime earnings.<\/p>\n
And there, in the center booth, sat Victor Kovac.<\/p>\n
He was a bear of a man with pale skin, icy blue eyes, and a shaved head. He was flanked by 2 bodyguards. He was currently smoking a cigar and watching the room with dead, sharklike eyes.<\/p>\n
Katya walked Sienna over.<\/p>\n
\u201cVictor, new girl. Says she worked at Le L.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac turned his gaze to Sienna.<\/p>\n
It felt like being submerged in ice water.<\/p>\n
He did not speak for a long time. He only inhaled smoke and blew it in her direction.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpin,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
His voice was thick with a Russian accent.<\/p>\n
Sienna swallowed her pride and turned slowly, letting the dress do its work.<\/p>\n
\u201cParis, yes?\u201d Kovac asked. \u201cTwo years?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwo years,\u201d Sienna said, keeping her voice low and sultry.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you in Boston?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy ex-boyfriend got possessive,\u201d she lied. \u201cI needed a new city, and I heard this is where the real money is.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac laughed. It was a wet, unpleasant sound. He patted the empty spot on the leather booth beside him.<\/p>\n
\u201cSit, Veronica.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna sat. Her skin crawled being this close to the man who had taken her sister. She wanted to claw his eyes out. Instead, she crossed her legs and smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want a job?\u201d Kovac asked, his hand resting on her knee.<\/p>\n
His fingers were thick and cold.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to make money,\u201d she corrected.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac signaled for a bottle of vodka.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou start tonight in here. Red Room only. If you do well, maybe you move up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUp?\u201d Sienna asked innocently. \u201cTo the penthouse?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac grinned, showing gold-capped teeth.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere the view is better.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna\u2019s heart skipped a beat.<\/p>\n
The penthouse.<\/p>\n
The office.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like that,\u201d she purred.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, the curtain to the booth parted. A man stepped in.<\/p>\n
Sienna froze.<\/p>\n
It was Marco Castellion, Roman\u2019s brother. He looked agitated, sweating. He sat down opposite Kovac, not even looking at Sienna.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have a problem, Victor,\u201d Marco said urgently.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot here,\u201d Kovac warned, gesturing to Sienna.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d Marco said, waving a dismissive hand. \u201cWe found the boat. Roman isn\u2019t dead. He\u2019s in the city.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna felt the blood drain from her face. She kept her expression neutral, frozen in a mask of boredom.<\/p>\n
Inside, she was screaming.<\/p>\n
Kovac\u2019s hand tightened on her knee, painful now.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlive?\u201d Kovac hissed. \u201cYou said you handled it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe had help. A girl. The waitress from the restaurant.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac turned his head slowly to look at Sienna. He studied her face. The makeup changed her. The hair changed her.<\/p>\n
But the eyes.<\/p>\n
Sienna stopped breathing.<\/p>\n
\u201cA waitress,\u201d Kovac mused.<\/p>\n
He leaned closer to Sienna, sniffing her neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou use vanilla perfume, Veronica.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna\u2019s mind raced.<\/p>\n
Bella had worn vanilla. Sienna wore it to remember her. It was a common scent.<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone wears vanilla, Victor,\u201d she said, her voice steady as rock. \u201cIt brings in the tips.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac stared at her for another second, then relaxed, releasing her knee.<\/p>\n
\u201cTrue,\u201d he chuckled. \u201cGo, Veronica. Get us drinks. We have business.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna stood, her legs feeling like lead. She walked to the bar, her hands shaking so hard she had to grip the marble counter. She touched the diamond choker.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoman,\u201d she whispered, barely moving her lips. \u201cMarco is here. They know you\u2019re alive. And I think Kovac has the ledger on him. He patted his jacket when Marco mentioned the deal.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman\u2019s voice came through her earpiece, tight and constrained.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out of there, Sienna. It\u2019s too hot. Marco might recognize you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe didn\u2019t look at me,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI can get the key card. Kovac is drinking. If I can spill a drink on him, get his jacket off\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSi, no. Abort.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not leaving without the ledger,\u201d she hissed. \u201cI see a waiter going over with a tray of shots. I\u2019m going to make a move.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSienna.\u201d<\/p>\n
She tapped the choker to mute him.<\/p>\n
She grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne and a towel.<\/p>\n
She was going to drop a tray again.<\/p>\n
But this time, she was not running.<\/p>\n
Part 3<\/p>\n
The air in the Red Room was thick enough to choke on, a miasma of expensive cigars, cheap morality, and the metallic tang of imminent violence.<\/p>\n
Sienna stood by the bar, the bottle of Dom P\u00e9rignon sweating in her grip. Her hands were trembling, not from fear, but from cold, crystalline rage.<\/p>\n
She had looked into the eyes of the man who sold her sister, and she had not blinked. But looking was 1 thing.<\/p>\n
Stealing from him was another.<\/p>\n
She tapped the diamond choker once.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going in.\u201d<\/p>\n
She moved through the crowd, her hips swaying in a rhythm that was not hers. It was Veronica\u2019s. She approached the booth where Kovac and Marco were deep in conversation.<\/p>\n
Kovac had removed his jacket, draping it over the back of the leather booth. The inside pocket bulged slightly.<\/p>\n
The key card.<\/p>\n
The master pass to the empire.<\/p>\n
\u201cGentlemen,\u201d Sienna purred, interrupting Marco mid-sentence. \u201cOn the house, to celebrate new partnerships.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac looked up, his eyes glassy with vodka.<\/p>\n
\u201cVeronica. You pour.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna leaned over the table. She uncorked the bottle with a soft pop. She poured a glass for Marco, who ignored her, his eyes fixed on Kovac. She poured a glass for Kovac.<\/p>\n
Then she executed the move.<\/p>\n
As she pulled the bottle back, she allowed her elbow to accidentally knock the full flute of champagne. The glass tipped, sending a cascade of sticky golden liquid straight into Kovac\u2019s lap.<\/p>\n
\u201cCazzo,\u201d Kovac roared, jumping up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh my God, I am so sorry,\u201d Sienna gasped, dropping the bottle on the table and grabbing a cloth napkin. She moved frantically, dabbing at his shirt, her hands flying. \u201cI slipped. I\u2019m so clumsy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGet away from me, you stupid bitch,\u201d Kovac shouted, shoving her hand away.<\/p>\n
But it was done.<\/p>\n
In the chaos of the spill, amid the flailing hands and shouting, Sienna\u2019s left hand had snaked behind him. Her fingers, nimble from years of counting change and pocketing tips, had slid into the inner pocket of his jacket draped on the chair. She felt the cool plastic of the key card. She palmed it, sliding it instantly into the waistband of her dress, hidden by the ruffles.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll get you a towel from the back,\u201d Sienna stammered, playing the part of the terrified employee.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out of my face before I cut it off,\u201d Kovac snarled.<\/p>\n
Marco looked at her. For a split second, his eyes narrowed. He looked at her hands, which were currently shaking. He looked at the spilled champagne.<\/p>\n
It was a classic grifter move.<\/p>\n
Marco knew it because he had used it himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d Marco said, his voice cutting through the music.<\/p>\n
Sienna froze.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s just a clumsy girl, Marco,\u201d Kovac grunted, wiping his pants. \u201cLet her go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marco stood slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t trip. Look at her feet. She\u2019s wearing 6-inch heels, but she has the balance of a dancer. She leaned into the spill.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna did not wait to be dissected.<\/p>\n
She spun around and bolted.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop her,\u201d Marco screamed.<\/p>\n
Sienna kicked off her heels, running barefoot across the sticky floor. She hit the crowd, shoving bodies out of the way. She did not head for the exit. She headed for the service corridor that led to the private elevator.<\/p>\n
\u201cSecurity,\u201d Kovac bellowed.<\/p>\n
Sienna burst through the service doors, hitting the call button on the elevator. She jammed the stolen key card into the reader.<\/p>\n
The light turned green.<\/p>\n
Ding.<\/p>\n
The doors slid open.<\/p>\n
She threw herself inside, hammering the button for the penthouse.<\/p>\n
Just as the doors began to close, a hand jammed into the gap. It was a bodyguard, a mountain of muscle named Boris. He pried the doors open with a grunt, stepping inside.<\/p>\n
He grabbed Sienna by the throat, slamming her against the mirrored wall. Her feet lifted off the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing somewhere, little bird?\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned.<\/p>\n
Sienna gagged, clawing at his massive hand. She could not breathe. Black spots danced in her vision. She reached for the Glock strapped to her thigh, but he pinned her arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cRain,\u201d she croaked. \u201cRain.\u201d<\/p>\n
Crash.<\/p>\n
The elevator ceiling hatch exploded inward. Roman dropped down like a dark angel of death. He landed directly on Boris\u2019s shoulders, the momentum driving the giant man to his knees.<\/p>\n
Roman did not hesitate. He wrapped the wire of a garrote around Boris\u2019s neck and pulled. It was over in seconds. The bodyguard slumped to the floor, unconscious.<\/p>\n
Roman stood, adjusting his suit jacket. He looked at Sienna, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and relief.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you to get out,\u201d he said, pulling her into a crushing embrace.<\/p>\n
\u201cI got the key,\u201d she gasped, clutching his lapels. \u201cWe\u2019re going up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMarco knows,\u201d Roman said, releasing her and checking his weapon. \u201cThey\u2019re coming up the stairs. We have maybe 3 minutes before this elevator opens into a firing squad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let\u2019s make them count,\u201d Sienna said.<\/p>\n
The elevator chimed.<\/p>\n
Penthouse level.<\/p>\n
The doors opened.<\/p>\n
The office was vast, a glass-walled sanctuary overlooking the city of Boston. It was silent, insulated from the thumping bass 5 floors below.<\/p>\n
\u201cFind the computer,\u201d Roman ordered, moving to the door to secure the perimeter.<\/p>\n
Sienna ran to the massive mahogany desk. She woke the computer.<\/p>\n
\u201cPassword protected,\u201d she yelled. \u201cIt needs a password.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman fired 2 shots through the heavy oak doors as the handle began to turn.<\/p>\n
\u201cTry Bella. Kovac is a narcissist, but he\u2019s also sentimental about his trophies.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna typed B-E-L-L-A.<\/p>\n
Access denied.<\/p>\n
She typed V-I-C-T-O-R.<\/p>\n
Access denied.<\/p>\n
She looked around the room. Her eyes landed on a painting above the fireplace. It was a disturbingly realistic portrait of a weeping angel.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe angel,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
She typed A-N-G-E-L.<\/p>\n
Access granted.<\/p>\n
Files scrolled across the screen.<\/p>\n
Shipping manifests. Payoffs to judges. Police bribes.<\/p>\n
And a folder labeled Project Siren.<\/p>\n
Sienna clicked it.<\/p>\n
Her heart stopped.<\/p>\n
It was not just Bella.<\/p>\n
It was dozens of girls. Photos. Locations. Prices.<\/p>\n
And at the bottom of the list, a status update on Bella Brooks.<\/p>\n
Subject: Bella Brooks.<\/p>\n
Status: deceased.<\/p>\n
Cause: overdose.<\/p>\n
Disposal site: B. Old Harbor.<\/p>\n
Sienna let out a sound that was not human. A keen of pure, unadulterated grief. She slumped against the desk, the strength leaving her legs.<\/p>\n
\u201cSienna,\u201d Roman shouted, firing again as door splinters flew inward. \u201cFocus. I need you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s dead,\u201d Sienna whispered, tears streaming down her face. \u201cHe killed her 3 years ago. She\u2019s just\u2014she\u2019s garbage to him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman abandoned the door. He sprinted to her, grabbing her face in his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at me,\u201d he commanded. \u201cGrieve later. Revenge now. Did you find the connection to Marco?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna sniffled, forcing herself to look at the screen. She scrolled down.<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
A scanned contract.<\/p>\n
Transfer of territory: South Boston waterfront in exchange for 30% of human trafficking revenue.<\/p>\n
Signed: Marco Castellion.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe signed it,\u201d Sienna said, her voice turning to ice. \u201cHe sold the territory. He sold the girls.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPrint it,\u201d Roman said. \u201cSend it to the Commission server. Burn him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna hit send.<\/p>\n
At that moment, the office doors were blown off their hinges.<\/p>\n
Smoke filled the room.<\/p>\n
Marco walked in, flanked by Kovac and 3 armed men.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoman.\u201d Marco smiled, spreading his arms. \u201cI always knew you were hard to kill, but this is just embarrassing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman stepped in front of Sienna, shielding her.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s over, Marco. The Commission has the files. Every boss from New York to Chicago just got an email showing you sold Italian soil to the Russians.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marco\u2019s smile faltered. He looked at his phone. It was buzzing incessantly.<\/p>\n
Kovac looked at Marco.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you handled the cybersecurity.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did,\u201d Marco snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cEvidently not,\u201d Kovac snarled.<\/p>\n
He raised his gun, not at Roman, but at Marco.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are a liability.\u201d<\/p>\n
Bang.<\/p>\n
Kovac shot Marco in the chest.<\/p>\n
Roman\u2019s brother fell, a look of shock on his face as he hit the Persian rug.<\/p>\n
Roman did not flinch.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow it\u2019s just us, Victor.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac laughed, turning his gun on Roman.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou and the waitress. How romantic. You can die together.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRun when I drop the tray,\u201d Sienna whispered.<\/p>\n
Kovac frowned.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna kicked the heavy computer monitor off the desk.<\/p>\n
It was not a tray.<\/p>\n
But it worked.<\/p>\n
As the monitor crashed to the floor, Roman dove right, rolling behind a leather sofa. Sienna dropped behind the heavy oak desk. Kovac fired wildly, bullets shredding the upholstery.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou think you can beat me in my house?\u201d Kovac roared, advancing.<\/p>\n
Roman popped up, firing 2 controlled shots. One hit Kovac in the shoulder, spinning him around.<\/p>\n
Kovac grunted, but kept coming, switching his gun to his other hand. He was a beast, fueled by adrenaline and vodka. He rounded the desk, aiming at Sienna.<\/p>\n
Sienna was ready.<\/p>\n
She was not holding the Glock. She was holding a letter opener she had grabbed from the desk, a 10-inch spike of solid brass.<\/p>\n
As Kovac aimed, she did not cower.<\/p>\n
She lunged.<\/p>\n
She drove the brass spike into Kovac\u2019s thigh, twisting it. Kovac screamed, his leg buckling. He collapsed onto 1 knee.<\/p>\n
Roman was there in an instant. He kicked the gun out of Kovac\u2019s hand. He placed the barrel of his SIG Sauer against Kovac\u2019s forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor Bella,\u201d Roman said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d Sienna said, standing.<\/p>\n
Her face was streaked with tears and mascara, but she looked like a queen of the underworld. She walked over to Kovac, who was bleeding and panting on the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is she?\u201d Sienna asked softly. \u201cSite B. Where is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo to hell.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kovac spat blood at her shoes.<\/p>\n
Sienna picked up Kovac\u2019s fallen gun. She looked at Roman. He did not stop her. He stepped back, giving her space.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou took the only thing I loved,\u201d Sienna said, her voice devoid of emotion. \u201cNow I take everything you have.\u201d<\/p>\n
She did not shoot him in the head.<\/p>\n
She shot him in the kneecap.<\/p>\n
Then the other one.<\/p>\n
Kovac shrieked, writhing in agony.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe police are coming,\u201d Sienna said, dropping the gun. \u201cThe files are public. You\u2019re going to prison, Victor. And in prison, the Italians will be waiting for you. Roman will make sure of it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman nodded solemnly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t last a week inside.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.<\/p>\n
\u201cTime to go,\u201d Roman said, holding out his hand.<\/p>\n
Sienna took it. She looked at Marco\u2019s dead body, then at the ruined form of Kovac. She looked at the empty office that represented so much pain.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not a waitress anymore,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Roman agreed, pulling her toward the fire escape. \u201cYou\u2019re a partner.\u201d<\/p>\n
Six months later, Caf\u00e9 Victoria had reopened.<\/p>\n
The bullet holes had been patched. The terrazzo floor had been polished until it shone like a mirror. But the atmosphere had changed. It was no longer just a place for coffee. It was a sanctuary protected by the most powerful name on the East Coast.<\/p>\n
Sienna sat at the corner table, the same table where Roman had sat that 1st night.<\/p>\n
But she was not wearing an apron.<\/p>\n
She was wearing a tailored cream suit, her hair styled in a sleek bob. A young waiter, hands shaking slightly, placed an espresso and a sambuca with 3 beans in front of her.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d she said, smiling.<\/p>\n
Her smile was different now, less open, more guarded. The smile of a woman who knew where the bodies were buried because she had helped dig the graves.<\/p>\n
The bell above the door chimed.<\/p>\n
Roman walked in.<\/p>\n
He was the don now. With Marco dead and Kovac\u2019s organization dismantled by the feds with a little help from the anonymous leaks Sienna had provided, Roman had consolidated power. The streets were quiet.<\/p>\n
He sat down opposite her, taking the espresso.<\/p>\n
He did not say hello. He simply looked at her with that intensity that still made her breath hitch.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe shipment arrived,\u201d Roman said quietly. \u201cMedical supplies for the clinic in Southie, as you requested.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the other matter?\u201d Sienna asked, stirring her drink. \u201cSite B?\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe found it. We gave Bella a proper burial this morning. St. Augustine\u2019s. It was private.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna reached across the table and took his hand. Her fingers brushed the scar on his knuckle, a souvenir from the night at the mill.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you, Roman.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t thank me, Sienna,\u201d he said, interlacing his fingers with hers. \u201cYou saved me. I save you. That\u2019s the deal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs the deal over?\u201d she asked playfully. \u201cNow that the war is won?\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman leaned in, his dark eyes dancing with rare light.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe war is never over, cara. There\u2019s always another wolf at the door.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and slid it across the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut this time,\u201d Roman said, \u201cI don\u2019t want you to run when I drop the tray. I want you to stand next to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna opened the box.<\/p>\n
It was not a ring.<\/p>\n
It was a key.<\/p>\n
An ornate iron key.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo the house in Tuscany,\u201d Roman said. \u201cOr the vault in Zurich. Or the front door of this city. Whatever you want it to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sienna closed her hand around the key.<\/p>\n
The waitress who counted tips was gone. In her place was a woman who had walked through fire and come out holding the flame.<\/p>\n
She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, echoing the words that had started it all, but with a new promise.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not running anywhere, boss.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roman smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face. He signaled the waiter.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother round,\u201d Roman said. \u201cAnd bring the lady whatever she wants. She owns the place.\u201d<\/p>\n
Outside, rain began to fall on Hanover Street, washing away the dust of the city. Inside, amid the smell of espresso and the warmth of the lights, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.<\/p>\n
A spilled tray and a whispered warning had changed the fate of the Boston underworld.<\/p>\n
Sienna Brooks proved that she did not need a gun to be dangerous. She only needed the courage to speak when everyone else stayed silent.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Metal crashing against marble. That was the sound that ended 20 lives and saved 1. Most people think the mafia is about grand sit-downs and … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1649,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,10],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1648","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","category--trending-stories"],"yoast_head":"\n