Chapter 23
ROMEO
> Threat Assessment: subject compromised.
> Objective: risk reduction → zero.
> Warning Sequence: bypassed.
> Command Prompt: neutralize.
During my digital excavation of Richard Holloway’s pre-election life, I vetted him against what I like to call the corrupt politician starter pack. Sloppy finances, affairs, addictions, risk exposure, NDA settlements, and overall reliability.
For the purpose he served at the time, he checked out. But after I began unearthing information on Imperium and their family members, I widened the scope on Richard, and a pattern emerged.
His visits to IVI-hosted events in multiple cities coincided with the sudden relocations or disappearances of women in the same areas. They were all between eighteen and twenty years old, sharing a similar set of traits.
In every instance, the clean-up was the same—accounts closed, phone numbers deactivated, socials scrubbed. I’d tracked down a few of them who had relocated, now living quiet lives in places where they could stay under the radar. But that wasn’t the only anomaly that surfaced.
A few months ago, his longtime executive assistant, personal driver, and travel aide all quit their jobs and relocated as well.
They weren’t IVI-affiliated and didn’t have the resources to hide themselves well, though they tried.
After I uncovered their locations, I had Mariella send volunteers from the Aegis network in their respective areas to broker a deal.
In exchange for new identities and a lump-sum payment, they were asked to share what they knew.
They turned over what they’d documented—a cache of hand-written notes tracking Richard’s activities over the years.
Richard had hired the son of an old college friend for his security team, and he would pick up young women from local nightclubs and bring them to Richard’s hotel room.
The rest of his security would be dismissed for the evening, and the driver was expected to return in the morning to pick up the women. When he did, they would often stumble out of the room, disoriented and withdrawn. Some of them were too afraid to even get in the car.
At other times, when the driver returned in the morning, he’d be told the guest had left of their own accord, only to discover they’d been reported missing later.
His team suspected Richard and his guard were drugging the women, but they couldn’t prove it. The assistant had spoken privately with a few of them after the fact, and they confirmed they couldn’t remember anything that happened, but they were too scared to go on the record.
Given that Richard had ties to a different chapter of Imperium at another university, it seems what happened to Gabi wasn’t a one-off. I think what started off as an initiation ritual in Richard’s college days became a twisted fantasy he never stopped indulging.
When his nephew was implicated in the leak, Holloway wanted to protect him. Not out of love, but because he saw no issue with what Imperium was doing.
As for the rest of the council members, they all have their own dirty secrets, and tonight, their karmic debt has come due.
The irony is that I’m using the same cocktail of drugs I confiscated from Imperium.
I divide the vials into a bunch of shot glasses on the bar and top them off with a cheap bottle of vodka.
Michele helps me force the liquid down each of the men’s throats, and it doesn’t take long to incapacitate them.
It will keep them quiet for now, but by the time we reach our destination, they’ll be slightly more alert and pliable enough for what we need to do.
We stop at a Bratva smuggling buoy in the middle of Puget Sound to meet up with Cristian. I turn on the AIS while we’re there, leaving a digital breadcrumb, and we transfer the men to Cal’s yacht. When Rafe shows up with the women in the third boat, Cristian predictably loses his shit.
“What is she doing here?” He glowers at Chantel.
She offers him a smile designed to test his patience. “I know this may be a novel concept for you, but I make my own decisions, so you can find someone else to manage.”
Cristian’s gaze darkens as it slides over her barely-there dress, and his hand flexes at his side.
“Trust me, you would know if I were managing you. I don’t do gentle correction.”
A flush crawls up Chantel’s neck, which only seems to increase the tension between the two of them.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she bites out.
They continue to stare at each other until Angelo interrupts. “Did you bring what we need for photos?”
“Yes.” Chantel points at the duffel bag between Jasmine and Honey.
“Then do what you need to do,” he tells them. “We’ll get the men situated.”
The women get ready, pulling on silicone face masks and wigs, while we set up staging areas for the men.
I dump some blow on the table in the salon and scatter dirty cocktail glasses throughout while Michele handles the main cabin. When he’s done tossing around condoms and dildos like confetti, we bring the women in.
“Oh, God, these motherfuckers.” Jasmine grimaces.
“You know them?” Rafe asks.
“Oh yeah, we know them.” Honey narrows her eyes at Cal. “Can I shove a couple dildos up his ass with no lube?”
“If you want.” Rafe snorts. “They’re yours to play with for the next hour.”
Jasmine and Honey glance at each other and smirk. Meanwhile, Chantel focuses on an attorney named Winston, and Cristian doesn’t miss it.
“What did this one do?” His eyes flash.
“Well, let’s see.” She counts off the offenses on her fingers.
“He grabbed my ass, yanked me onto his lap during a show, and tried to shove his hand down my shorts. Then, when he got banned from the club, he followed me through the parking garage and tried to get me to retract my complaints against him.”
Cristian levels Winston with a rare display of emotion as a vein in his neck pulses. He’s usually the calm one, but he looks tempted to gut him right now.
He confirms it when he shoots me a look, quietly letting me know he wants me to save Winston for him.
“Should we get this party started?” Jasmine asks.
Both the other women nod, but when Chantel tries to join them, Cristian grabs her by the arm and halts her.
“No physical contact. You can help take photos.”
“Why?” she argues. “I put the mask and wig on.”
“Because I fucking said so,” he snaps.
“Better do what daddy says,” Honey sings. “He sounds cranky.”
Chantel yanks her arm free and holds out her hand. “Give me a phone so I can take these stupid pictures.”
I toss Richard’s phone to her first and line up the rest, so they’re ready when we need them.
“Alright, well, if I have to pretend I’m sucking his dick, I need a drink first.” Jasmine grabs a bottle of top-shelf whiskey from the bar and takes a long pull before she plops down on Winston’s lap.
She grabs him by the hair on the back of his head, holding him upright as she smacks him across the face.
“Look alive, motherfucker. This isn’t Weekend at Bernie’s.”
His eyes open at half-mast, and Jasmine presses the silicone mask against his face, staging a kiss as Chantel snaps photos. The images get progressively worse as the hour wears on and we move the men around, orchestrating scenes I wish I could erase from memory.
I had no desire to see what their pencil-dicks looked like, but when these images get passed around to their wives, I doubt they’ll be doing too much grieving.
We make sure to get shots with all of them, avoiding any identifying features of the women. Throughout that time, we send them out in their group chat with some of their other pals, leaving a trail of evidence behind.
Once we have enough, Cristian helps the women onto the other boat, and they head back to Seattle while the rest of us finish preparations.
Rafe and Michele drag the men out onto the aft deck, and I choose three at random and bag their heads, leaving them to suffocate.
While they do that, I set up two stations with five-gallon buckets of ocean water, then I get to work.
I grab one of the sleeziest-looking assholes first, shoving his head into the bucket until he goes limp.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Romeo?” Angelo kicks Cal in the face before he dunks him.
“I was thinking I did the world a favor.”
I heave the first guy aside and choose another, trying not to grimace as I work. My ribs hurt like a motherfucker, and my leg is definitely fucked for a few days at least. The pain is really setting in now.
“You’re lucky they got your back tire,” Rafe observes. “Or you might be in a whole other world of hurt right now.”
“Yeah, lucky,” I grunt.
It was no accident they shot my back tire, and if I had to venture a guess, it was at Ares’s directive. He’s trying to worm his way into our business, and splattering my brains all over the pavement isn’t conducive to that. But that’s what I get for going in distracted.
“You can’t take matters into your own hands unsanctioned.” Angelo tosses Cal’s corpse onto the deck.
Rafe smirks, seizing the opportunity to point out the hypocrisy. “You mean like you did with your wife?”
“Gabi isn’t his wife,” Angelo clips out. “That’s a whole other issue we need to discuss. You either need to renegotiate her marriage contract and make her an honest offer or back off. Killing Riccardo isn’t an option.”
“Why not?” Rafe grumbles. “He’s annoying as fuck.”
While he and Angelo argue over the purpose of Riccardo’s existence, I think about what Angelo said. The idea of making Gabi my wife stirs something in my chest I refuse to identify.
Tonight, I lost control again. If I had been near her, I could have hurt her. It’s a cold, hard reality check that nothing has changed.
You aren’t good for her.
Not like this.
Those words live rent-free in my head for a reason. I’m too fucked up for her, and I can’t be what she needs. But I don’t know how to stay away from her either.