8. Roman
ROMAN
I forced my breathing to steady as Declan settled into the leather chair across from my desk.
The scent of Cassie still clung to my clothes, and I could feel the heat of where her body had been pressed against mine moments before.
But the moment Declan had mentioned the mole, everything else faded into background noise.
"Talk," I said, pouring myself another whiskey despite the early hour. My hands were steadier than they had any right to be.
Declan pulled out a tablet, his eyes scanning the screen with cool detachment.
"Three shipments intercepted in the last two weeks.
Two deals that fell through because law enforcement got ‘anonymous tips’ about our meetings.
And yesterday, the feds raided the Baltimore operation—walked away with enough evidence to put half our associates behind bars. "
The whiskey burned going down, but it did nothing to cool the rage building in my chest. "How much did we lose?"
"Financially? About twelve million. But that’s not the real problem." Declan’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair —a nervous tell I’d learned to read years ago. "The problem is that someone knew exactly when and where to strike. Someone with access to our most sensitive information."
I stood and walked to the windows, watching the morning sun cast long shadows across the estate grounds. My territory. My kingdom. And someone was trying to tear it down from the inside.
"Who had access to all three operations?" I asked without turning around.
"That’s where it gets interesting." I heard papers rustle behind me. "The shipping manifests, the meeting locations, the Baltimore warehouse—only eight people knew about all three. And Roman?" His voice dropped lower. "One of them isn’t who they appear to be."
The implication hit me like a physical blow. Eight people. My inner circle. Men I’d trusted with my life, my business, my fucking future. One of them was a snake, feeding information to my enemies while breaking bread at my table.
"Names," I said, my voice deadly quiet.
"Connor, Joey, Tommy, Sean, Fion, and myself..." He paused, and I could feel his eyes boring into my back. "And your new fiancée."
I turned around slowly, every muscle in my body coiled tight. "Excuse me?"
Declan leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral.
But there was something in his eyes—something calculating that made my skin crawl.
"I’m just being thorough, Roman. She’s been your assistant for five months.
She’s been present for sensitive conversations.
She has access to your office, your files, your schedule. "
"She’s not the mole, Declan." The words came out sharper than I intended.
"How can you be sure?" He stood, moving to the bar cart with predatory grace. "She’s an outsider, Roman. No family connections, no history with our organization. For all we know, she could be working for the feds. Or worse—for Mickey’s old associates."
The mention of my uncle’s name made my jaw clench.
Mickey Creed, my father’s brother, the man who’d tried to seize control after Patrick’s death.
The man I’d been forced to put down when diplomacy failed.
Mickey had allies—people who still believed he should have inherited the Creed empire instead of me.
"Cassie isn’t working for anyone," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, doubt crept in. How well did I really know her? Five months of professional interaction and two days of explosive chemistry didn’t exactly constitute a thorough background check.
Declan poured himself a drink, his movements deliberate and theatrical. "She’s not one of us, Roman. She doesn’t understand our world, our codes, our loyalties. She’s a risk."
"She’s my fiancée."
"Is she?" Declan’s pale eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. "Or is she just a convenient solution to your inheritance problem?"
The question hung in the air like smoke, acrid and suffocating. Because that’s exactly what Cassie was supposed to be—a convenient solution. A beautiful, intelligent woman who could help me legitimize the business while satisfying the family’s demands for stability.
But somewhere between our two desperate fucking encounters, the lines had blurred. Cassie wasn’t just a business arrangement anymore. She was becoming something more dangerous—something I cared about.
"My personal life isn’t your concern," I said finally.
Declan’s smile was sharp as a blade. "Everything about you is my concern. That’s what a consigliere does—he protects his boss from all threats. Including the ones he can’t see coming."
He stepped closer, and I caught the scent of his expensive cologne. "You’re changing the way we operate for her, Roman. Bringing her to family meetings, letting her into secure areas, and sharing information that should be compartmentalized. That’s not leadership—it’s compromise."
The accusation hit home because it was true. I had been making exceptions for Cassie, breaking protocols I’d established specifically to prevent security breaches. But it wasn’t compromise—it was trust. Something Declan wouldn’t understand.
"I know what I’m doing," I said.
"Do you?" Declan moved closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re thinking with your cock instead of your head."
The insult hung in the air like a loaded gun. I felt my control slip, that predatory instinct that had kept me alive all these years rising to the surface. Declan was pushing boundaries, testing limits, and he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Careful, brother," I said softly, and somehow, that quiet tone was more threatening than any shout could have been. "This isn’t the first time you’re insinuating this, but it better be your last."
But Declan didn’t back down. If anything, he seemed energized by the confrontation, his eyes bright with something that looked like anticipation. "I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. The boys are starting to talk, Roman. They’re wondering if their boss has gone soft."
"The boys can wonder all they want. I’m still in charge."
"Are you?" His head tilted slightly, like a predator sizing up prey. "Because if you can’t make the hard choices anymore, if you can’t do what needs to be done..."
The threat was implicit but clear. Declan was questioning my fitness to lead, planting seeds of doubt that could grow into full-scale rebellion if I wasn’t careful. But there was something else in his tone, something that made my instincts scream warnings I couldn’t quite identify.
My mind flashed back to Anton—my former right hand, the man I’d trusted above all others. Anton had been charming, intelligent, and absolutely loyal. Right up until the moment he’d sold me out to the Torrino family during the bloodiest turf war in the city’s history.
I’d walked into what should have been a peace negotiation and found myself facing fifteen armed men instead of three.
Only Connor’s quick thinking and quicker trigger finger had kept me alive long enough to fight my way out.
But not before I’d taken a bullet to the shoulder and watched two of my best men die in the crossfire.
It had taken me three months to track Anton down.
Three months of careful investigation, patient surveillance, and methodical elimination of his allies.
When I finally found him holed up in a safe house in Queens, he’d begged for his life.
Claimed he’d been coerced, threatened, forced into betrayal.
I’d put two bullets in his head, anyway.
Because trust, once broken, could never be fully repaired. And in my world, broken trust was a terminal disease that infected everything it touched.
Now, looking at Declan’s carefully controlled expression, I felt that same cold certainty settling in my chest. Something wasn’t right. The subtle challenges to my authority, the way he seemed almost eager to sow discord—it all added up to a picture I didn’t like.
But I couldn’t act on suspicion alone. Not yet.
"I appreciate your concern," I said, injecting just enough steel into my voice to make my position clear. "But Cassie isn’t the problem here. The mole is someone who’s been with us longer, someone with deeper access to our operations."
Declan’s smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. "If you say so. But Roman? When this blows up in your face—and it will—remember that I warned you."
He started to turn away, but I caught his arm. "Declan?"
"Yeah?"
"Find the real mole. And when you do, bring them to me alive. I want to look them in the eye before I put them in the ground."
Something flickered across his features—too quick to identify, but it set my teeth on edge. "Of course. You’ll have your answers soon enough."
He left without another word, and I found myself alone with my whiskey and my doubts.
Through the security monitors, I could see Cassie in the kitchen, making coffee with the kind of unconscious grace that made my chest tighten.
She looked small in the massive space, vulnerable in a way that made every protective instinct I possessed roar to life.
How exposed she was in a world I couldn’t fully control.
That was the real problem—not whether she was the mole, but how completely defenseless she was against the forces gathering around us.
Cassie was brilliant and strong-willed, but she didn’t understand the rules of this game.
She didn’t know how to read the subtle signs of betrayal, how to identify the wolves hiding among the sheep.
And if something happened to her because of my enemies, because of my failure to protect her...
The thought made my blood run cold.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through the contacts until I found the number I needed. Fion O’Brien answered on the second ring.
"Boss."
"I need a favor, Fion. I need more men covering the perimeter. Personal security detail. The best you have."
"How soon?"
"Today."
There was a pause. "That’s going to cost extra."
"Money isn’t an issue."
"Consider it done. They’ll be there by noon."
I ended the call and dialed another number. This time, it was my tech specialist—a paranoid genius who could make electronic surveillance equipment out of household appliances.
"Tommy? I need a full security sweep of the estate. Every room, every device, every possible listening post. And I need it done quietly."
"Looking for something specific?"
"Bugs. Transmitters. Anything that doesn’t belong."
"When do you need it done?"
"Now. And Tommy? If you find anything, don’t touch it. Just mark the location and report back to me directly. No one else hears about this until I say so."
"Understood."
The third call was to Connor, the only man in my organization I trusted completely. He’d been with my father since before I was born, had saved my life more times than I could count, and had never once given me a reason to doubt his loyalty.
"Connor, I need you to do something for me. Quietly."
"Name it."
"Background check on Cassie James. Everything you can find—family history, financial records, employment history, associates. I want to know who she’s talked to, who she’s fucked, who she owes money to."
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that I started to worry Connor had hung up.
"Roman," he said finally, his voice careful. "You sure about this? Because if she finds out?—"
"She won’t. And Connor? This stays between us. No matter what you find."
"Of course. But Roman? For what it’s worth, I like the girl. She’s got steel in her spine, and she looks at you like you hung the moon. Don’t throw that away over paranoia."
The call ended before I could respond, leaving me alone with my doubts and the growing certainty that everything I’d built was balanced on a knife’s edge.
The door to my office slammed open hard enough to rattle the windows. Declan stood in the doorway, his face pale, his blonde hair disheveled like he’d been running.
"Roman," he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. "We’ve got a problem. A big fucking problem."
"What is it?"
"The warehouse on Pier 47. The one with our main shipping operation." His eyes were wide with something that looked like shock. "It’s gone."
"Gone? What do you mean gone?"
"I mean, gone, Roman. Blown to fucking pieces. The whole building is rubble, and there are fire trucks and feds crawling all over the scene."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Pier 47 wasn’t just any warehouse—it was the heart of our legitimate shipping operation, the cornerstone of my plan to clean up the family business.
More importantly, it housed financial records, shipping manifests, and client information that could implicate dozens of our associates if it fell into the wrong hands.
"How bad?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would be catastrophic.
"Eight dead, including two of our guys. The explosion was big enough to take out half the pier. And Roman?" Declan’s voice dropped to a whisper. "This wasn’t an accident. Someone planted charges in exactly the right places to bring down the whole structure."
The room went silent except for the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Someone had just declared war on the Creed family. Someone with inside knowledge of our operations, our security protocols, and our most vulnerable assets.
The mole hadn’t just been feeding information to our enemies—they’d been planning this from the beginning.
And now they’d just raised the stakes in a game where losing meant death for everyone I cared about.
Including Cassie.