13. Roman
ROMAN
I slipped out of bed at eleven p.m., my movements careful and silent as I watched Cassie sleep. She was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, dark hair spilling across the white pillowcase like ink. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Mine.
The urge to wake her, to tell her where I was going, clawed at my chest. But I couldn’t afford that luxury. Not tonight. Tonight was about ending the threat that had been circling us for weeks, about cutting the head off the snake before it could strike at what mattered most.
I dressed in the dark—black tactical gear, Kevlar vest, weapons that had kept me alive through a dozen wars. The weight of my Glock against my ribs was familiar, comforting. This was who I’d been long before Cassie walked into my life, and it was who I’d be long after the dust settled.
The bedroom door locked with a soft click behind me. No goodbyes. No hesitation.
This was war.
The safehouse on the outskirts of the city looked like any other abandoned warehouse from the outside. Inside, it was a fortress—reinforced walls, multiple escape routes, and enough firepower to level a city block. My men were already waiting, their faces grim in the harsh fluorescent lighting.
Declan stood at the tactical table, studying blueprints of Pier 19 with the focused intensity of a general planning a siege. He looked up as I approached, pale eyes meeting mine with something that might have been concern.
"You’re late," he said.
"Couldn’t leave earlier." I pulled on my tactical vest, checking the straps with practiced efficiency. "Everything in position?"
"Connor’s team has overwatch from the north. Tommy is handling electronic surveillance. We’ve got the pier locked down tight." Declan’s voice was steady, professional. "But Roman..."
"What?"
He hesitated, and for a moment, I saw something flicker across his features—doubt, maybe, or fear. "Are you sure about this? Going in personally?"
I finished adjusting my vest and reached for my weapons. "Someone betrayed my family. I look them in the eye before I put them in the ground."
"I’m not questioning your resolve." Declan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I’m questioning your judgment. You’ve got Cassie to think about now. A future to protect. Maybe it’s time to let someone else handle the dirty work."
The suggestion hit me wrong, like nails on a chalkboard.
I’d been leading from the front since I was nineteen years old, had earned my place through blood and violence, and the kind of choices that kept lesser men awake at night.
The idea of stepping back, of hiding behind my men while they fought my battles, was antithetical to everything my father had taught me.
"Since when do you advocate for caution?" I asked, studying his face.
"Since you started thinking with your heart instead of your head." His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Love makes a man soft, Roman. Makes him hesitate at the worst possible moment."
Love. The word hung between us like a loaded gun. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? What I felt for Cassie had moved beyond possession, beyond need, into something more dangerous. Something that could get us both killed if I wasn’t careful.
"I’m not soft," I whispered.
"No. But you’re distracted. And in our world, distraction is a terminal disease."
I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong.
But as I checked my weapons one last time, I could feel the truth of his words settling in my chest like lead.
Every choice I’d made in the last few weeks had been influenced by her—the need to protect her, to shield her from the worst of my world, to become the kind of man who deserved someone like her.
Maybe Declan was right. Maybe I was compromised.
But it didn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight was about ending the threat that hung over both our heads.
"The mission stands," I said. "We go in, we identify the mole, and we eliminate the problem. Clean and simple."
Declan nodded, but something in his expression bothered me—a flicker of satisfaction that was gone too quickly to analyze. "Whatever you say, boss."
Half an hour later, we were positioned around Pier 19 like pieces on a chessboard.
The warehouse loomed against the night sky, its broken windows staring down at the dark water like dead eyes.
Everything was silent except for the gentle lap of waves against the dock and the distant hum of city traffic.
Too silent.
I crouched behind a shipping container, Declan beside me, both of us scanning the warehouse entrance through night vision scopes.
According to our intelligence, the meeting was supposed to start in five minutes.
But something felt wrong—a prickle of unease between my shoulder blades that I’d learned never to ignore.
"Movement," Connor’s voice crackled through my earpiece. "Two vehicles approaching from the east."
I watched through my scope as a black sedan and an SUV pulled into the warehouse parking area. Four men got out—three I didn’t recognize, one who made my blood run cold.
Marina. Anton’s sister, the ghost who’d been feeding information to our enemies. She moved with the same predatory grace as her brother, the same calculating intelligence that had nearly gotten me killed three years ago.
"There’s our traitor," I murmured into my comm.
"Copy that," Tommy’s voice responded. "Electronic surveillance is picking up multiple heat signatures inside the warehouse. Looks like they brought backup."
Of course, they had. This was never going to be simple.
I was about to give the order to move when Declan’s hand landed on my shoulder.
"Something’s wrong," he whispered.
I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. More vehicles were approaching from the south—at least six cars, moving fast and quietly. This wasn’t just a meeting between Marina and whatever family was backing her.
This was an army.
"All units, we’ve got company," I spoke into my comm. "Multiple vehicles inbound. This is about to get hot."
"Roman," Connor’s voice was tight with tension. "We should pull back. Regroup. This feels like?—"
The first shot shattered the night like breaking glass.
Then all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted from every direction—the warehouse, the approaching vehicles, positions I hadn’t even known were occupied. My carefully planned ambush had become a killing field, and we were caught in the crossfire.
"Move!" I shouted, grabbing Declan’s arm as bullets chewed up the shipping container we’d been hiding behind. "Get to the secondary position!"
We ran in a crouch, staying low as automatic weapons fire lit up the night like deadly fireworks. I could hear my men shouting into their comms, trying to coordinate a response to chaos that defied coordination.
A bullet caught me in the ribs, the impact spinning me around and sending me sprawling behind another container. The Kevlar had stopped it from penetrating, but the force still felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer. I tasted blood and copper, felt the warm wetness spreading across my side.
"Roman!" Declan dropped beside me, his own shoulder already dark with blood. "How bad?"
"I’ll live." I pressed my hand against my ribs, assessing the damage. Bruised, maybe cracked, but nothing vital. "You?"
"Clean through. Missed the bone." His pale eyes were bright with adrenaline and something else—something that looked almost like excitement. "This was a setup. Someone knew we were coming."
The thought had already occurred to me, but hearing him say it out loud made the betrayal sting even worse. Someone in my inner circle—someone I trusted—had sold us out. Again.
"Boss!" Joey’s voice crackled through my earpiece, panic threading through the static. "Connor’s pinned down in the north building. Tommy’s offline. We need to move, now!"
I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the fire in my ribs. "Fall back to extraction point alpha. Fighting retreat. No one gets left behind."
What followed was the longest ten minutes of my life. We moved through the warehouse district like ghosts, trading fire with an enemy that seemed to know our every move. I dragged Sean to safety when he took a bullet to the leg, hauled him behind cover while return fire splintered the concrete.
The warehouse exploded behind us in a ball of orange flame that lit up the night sky like a second sun. The heat washed over us in waves, and I realized with sick certainty that this hadn’t just been an ambush.
It had been an assassination attempt.
Someone had wanted me dead badly enough to turn a simple takedown into a war zone. Someone who knew exactly where I’d be and when I’d be there.
By the time we reached the extraction point, I was running on pure adrenaline and rage. Three of my men were wounded, Connor had taken shrapnel to the face, and we still had no idea who’d set us up.
But we were alive. Bloodied, battered, but alive.
"Hospital," Declan said, pressing a cloth to his shoulder wound. "We all need medical attention."
I shook my head. "Safe house first. Clean up there. Can’t risk civilian hospitals with this many wounded."
"Roman—"
"That’s an order."
He nodded, but I caught the flash of frustration in his eyes. Like he’d expected a different response. Like maybe, he’d been hoping for a different outcome entirely.
The drive back to the estate was silent except for the occasional grunt of pain from the wounded. I stared out the window at the city lights, my mind racing through possibilities and permutations. Who had access to our operational plans? Who knew the timing and location of tonight’s mission?
The list was short. Too short. And every name on it was someone I’d trusted with my life.
By the time we pulled through the estate gates, one thing was crystal clear: the war wasn’t over. If anything, tonight had just been the opening shot.
And somewhere in my organization, the real enemy was still waiting to strike.