Chapter 4 The Ultimatum
POV: Sienna
“We change the rules.”
His words hung in the suffocating space between us, vibrating with a dark, terrifying finality. I stared up at Roman, my mind scrambling to decode the glacial calm in his eyes. The leather of his glove had barely left my cheek, but my skin still burned from the phantom weight of his touch.
"What does that mean?" I whispered, my throat tight. "If Jorath is waiting downstairs, we need to call a tribunal. We need to contact the Syndicate Magistrate and—"
"A tribunal requires a formal dispute of assets, Sienna," Roman interrupted smoothly, taking a slow half-step back.
The movement should have given me room to breathe, but somehow, the suite felt even smaller.
"Jorath isn't disputing your claim. He’s planning to absorb it through blood.
Under the old laws of the Holdings, if an heir dies before establishing a formal alliance, their shares default to the highest-ranking Capo of their bloodline. "
He spoke with the detached, clinical precision of a man reading a quarterly financial report, completely unfazed by the fact that he was casually detailing my impending execution.
"So I run," I shot back, a frantic, desperate energy hijacking my limbs. I lunged toward my packed duffel bag, my hands gripping the thick canvas straps. "I have fake papers. I can disappear before he even knows I'm out of the building. You can give me safe passage out of the Vesperine District—"
"No."
The single syllable cracked through the room like a gunshot. Roman didn't raise his voice, but the absolute, immovable authority in it froze me in my tracks.
"You are not running," he continued, his tone dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
"You wouldn't make it to the city limits before Jorath's men put you in the trunk of a car.
The only way to neutralize a blood-claim without inciting a full-scale civil war within the syndicates is to render the target legally untouchable. We have to introduce a superior claim."
I slowly turned back to face him, the canvas straps of my bag digging painfully into my palms. My pulse pounded in my ears, a frantic drumbeat of rising panic. "A superior claim? Like a merger?"
"Exactly like a merger," Roman said softly.
He didn't blink. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the relentless drumming of the rain against the smart-glass windows.
I searched his perfectly composed features, looking for the punchline, the catch, the underlying strategy.
And then, like a slow-acting poison seeping into my bloodstream, the realization finally hit me.
My breath caught in my throat. I dropped the bag.
"No," I breathed, shaking my head. "No. Absolutely not."
"It is the only legal loophole that completely voids Jorath's jurisdiction," Roman stated, taking a slow step toward me, stalking me in the center of my own bedroom.
"A binding, immediate marriage to a sitting Don transfers your primary allegiance to the Luvaris syndicate.
Your assets become untouchable. Your life becomes protected under my flag.
Jorath would be forced to stand down or face the combined wrath of the entire Underworld. "
"You're out of your mind," I spat, the terror suddenly morphing into a white-hot, explosive rage. "You think I'm going to trade one cage for another? You think I'm going to let you legally own me for the rest of my life just because you manufactured some convenient threat?"
"I didn't manufacture Jorath's greed," Roman replied, his voice chillingly level. "But I am offering you the only solution to survive it."
"You want my shares!" I screamed, the facade of a composed, emancipated woman entirely shattering.
I launched myself at him, my hands curling into fists, shoving violently at the solid, immovable wall of his chest. "You've been waiting for this!
You couldn't stand the thought of me turning eighteen and walking out from under your thumb, so you’re using this to trap me! "
I struck his chest again, a desperate, breathless strike, but Roman didn't even flinch.
His hands shot out, fast as a striking viper, his large, gloved palms wrapping around my wrists.
He didn't hurt me, but his grip was made of iron.
With one fluid, effortless motion, he twisted my arms and backed me into the heavy mahogany wardrobe.
My spine hit the wood with a dull thud. Roman stepped into my space, pressing his body flush against mine, pinning me instantly. The heat radiating off him was entirely at odds with the freezing emptiness in his eyes.
"Listen to me very carefully," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were mere inches from my ear.
His warm breath ghosted across my skin, sending an involuntary, traitorous shiver down my neck.
"I already control this city. I don't need your father's shares.
But I will not let you walk out that door and bleed out on the marble floors below just to prove a pathetic point about your independence. "
I struggled against his grip, kicking my boots against his shins, but it was like fighting a statue. "Let me go! I would rather take my chances with Jorath!"
"Liar," Roman whispered, his dark eyes locking onto mine, stripping away every defense I had left.
The raw, violent intensity in his gaze pinned me in place more effectively than his hands.
"You know exactly what Jorath is. You know what he would do to you.
And you know that I am the only one who can rip his throat out. "
Tears of absolute, helpless frustration welled in my eyes.
I hated him. I hated the suffocating scent of his bergamot cologne.
I hated the perfect, tailored cut of his suit.
But most of all, I hated that he was right.
I was eighteen years old, standing in the middle of a war I didn't know how to fight, entirely at the mercy of a man who looked at me like I was something to be devoured.
"It's a life sentence," I choked out, my voice breaking as the fight finally began to drain out of my muscles.
Roman’s thumb stroked the frantic pulse point at my wrist, a gesture so intimately possessive it made my stomach flip. He didn't deny it. He didn't offer empty platitudes about temporary arrangements or future annulments.
"The Syndicate Magistrate is waiting in my private office," Roman commanded, his voice dropping to a low, lethal purr. "Put the dress back on, Sienna. We have a wedding to attend."
He finally released my wrists and stepped back, leaving me shivering in the cold air of the suite.
As he turned toward the door, I stared at his broad back, a chilling realization settling deep into my bones.
Jorath wanted to kill me, but Roman Luvaris wanted something far more terrifying.
He wanted my soul, and he had just manipulated the entire underworld to get it.