Chapter 3 – ROMAN
CHAPTER 3
ROMAN
I watch Troy's retreating back as he heads off to debrief Caruso, his easy gait belying the tension I know he's carrying. My own muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Old habits die hard, especially when they've kept you alive through hell.
The safe house feels too small suddenly, the walls closing in. I need air, need to think. With a grunt to Cole, who's lurking in the shadows like some damn specter, I step out onto the balcony.
The Sicilian night wraps around me, warm and heavy with the scent of jasmine. In the distance, I can hear the faint lapping of waves against the shore. It's peaceful. Deceptively so.
I grip the railing, my knuckles turning white. This job was supposed to be easy. A cakewalk. Babysit some rich asshole at his fancy parties, maybe rough up a paparazzo or two. Instead, we're knee-deep in what's shaping up to be a full-blown mafia war.
We're not equipped for this. Not anymore.
The thought hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me winded. We're soldiers, trained for combat in war zones, not for navigating the murky waters of organized crime. We're out of our depth here, and if I'm not careful, I'm going to get my men killed.
My pack.
The word echoes in my mind, heavy with responsibility. They're more than just a team. They're my family, the only one I've got left. And I've led them into this mess.
I close my eyes, trying to push back the memories that threaten to surface. The smell of burning flesh. The groans of the dying. The weight of dog tags in my hand, belonging to men who'll never go home.
No. Not again. I won't lose anyone else.
A soft footstep behind me breaks through my spiraling thoughts. I don't need to turn to know it's Savva. The others, they announce their presence with heavy footfalls or clearing throats.
But Savva?
He moves like a ghost when he wants to.
"Penny for your thoughts, fearless leader?" His voice is light, teasing, but I can hear the undercurrent of concern.
I don't answer immediately, my eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Savva doesn't push, just leans against the railing beside me, his presence a silent offer of support.
Finally, I speak, my voice low and rough. "We're in over our heads, Savva."
He hums noncommittally. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"This is different," I growl, frustration seeping into my tone. "We're not equipped for this kind of operation. We're soldiers, not... whatever the hell this is."
Savva's quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, the playful lilt is gone from his voice. "We're whatever we need to be, Roman. That's what makes us good at what we do."
I turn to look at him then, really look at him. In the moonlight, his auburn hair looks almost silver, his hazel-green eyes dark and serious. It's easy to forget sometimes, under all that charm and sophistication, that Savva's just as much a soldier as the rest of us.
"And what if what we need to be gets one of us killed?" The words come out harsher than I intended, but Savva doesn't flinch.
Instead, he meets my gaze steadily. "Then we deal with that when it happens. But right now? We have a job to do."
I want to argue, to tell him it's not that simple. But the truth is, it is. We took this job, and now we see it through. That's how we operate. That's how we've always operated.
But the nagging doubt remains. The voice in the back of my head that whispers we're not cut out for this anymore. That we need to find something safer, something that doesn't put us in the crosshairs of people who make killing an art form.
Savva must see something in my expression because his face softens. "You're thinking about getting out, aren't you?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. This isn't exactly what we signed up for. But Roman, what else are we going to do? Get normal jobs?"
The idea is so absurd I almost laugh. Us, normal? The thought of Troy behind a desk, or Liam trying to work retail, or Cole... doing anything that doesn't involve a sniper rifle, really. It's laughable.
But still...
"We could find other work," I say, even as I hear the lack of conviction in my own voice. "Security consulting, maybe. Something less... volatile."
Savva blows a puff of air through his nose. "Right. Because we're all so good at de-escalation."
He's got a point. Our team isn't exactly known for its subtlety. We're more the 'shoot first, ask questions later' type. It's what made us effective in the field, but it's not exactly a transferable skill in the civilian world.
"We could try," I insist, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak.
Savva's quiet for a long moment, his eyes scanning the horizon. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, almost gentle. “Roman, we are who we are. This is what we do. It's not always pretty, and it's sure as hell not safe, but it's us. You really think any of us could walk away from this? From you?”
I want to say yes. I want to believe that we could hang up our guns, leave behind the violence and the danger. But deep down, I know he's right. This life, as fucked up as it is, it's all we know. All we're good at.
"I just..." I trail off, struggling to find the words. "I can't lose any of you.”
The admission costs me, leaves me feeling raw and exposed. But Savva just nods, understanding in his eyes.
"We're not going anywhere," he says, his voice firm. "We're a pack. Where you go, we go."
The words settle something in me, a restlessness I didn't even realize was there. We're a pack. Broken, damaged, but at least we’re together.
And maybe that's enough.
I straighten, squaring my shoulders. "Alright," I say, my voice steadier now. "Let's get back inside. We've got work to do."
Savva grins, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. "That's more like it. Besides, I think I hear Liam trying to teach Troy how to swear in Gaelic. This I've got to see."
Despite everything, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.