Chapter 11 - The Wolf at the Door
The corridor was silent once more, but the air remained charged with residual violence.
Tessa let out a slow, trembling breath, leaning heavily against Roman’s solid frame. "You weren't really going to throw him in the river, were you?"
"The river is polluted enough," Roman replied calmly, though his jaw remained rigid. "The docks will hold him until the papers are signed and the medical board destroys him legally. I promised you I wouldn't leave bodies in your wake."
"Thank you," she whispered, burying her face into his shoulder.
Roman wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "Come. The private car is waiting downstairs. I'm taking you home. You've had enough excitement for one night."
He guided her down the private service corridor toward the VIP freight elevator—the secure route his team had cleared an hour before their arrival. Two more armed guards joined them, flanking the rear with submachine guns concealed beneath long overcoats.
They stepped into the spacious elevator, the steel doors sliding shut with a heavy hum. The car descended smoothly toward the underground parking garage where Roman’s armored Maybach was stationed.
Tessa rested her hands on her stomach, feeling the steady, rhythmic flutter of her baby boy. For the first time all evening, the knot of tension in her chest began to loosen. Caleb was broken. Her research would be returned to her name. Her son would grow up with a father who moved heaven and earth to protect him.
*Ding.*
The elevator reached the sub-basement garage. The steel doors slid open.
Instead of the empty, secured concrete bay guarded by Roman’s men, the garage was plunged into total, pitch-black darkness.
The emergency lights flickered once—a harsh, violent red—revealing three of Roman’s perimeter guards lying motionless on the oil-stained concrete floor.
Before Roman could draw his weapon, the unmistakable, metallic click of a dozen tactical safeties being disengaged echoed through the cavernous space.
"Step out slowly, Roman," a voice purred from the shadows near the armored Maybach.
It was an accented voice—European, sharp, and dripping with venomous amusement.
From behind the concrete pillar stepped a tall man in a tailored grey coat, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries carrying silenced assault rifles, their laser sights painting bright red dots across Roman’s chest.
May you like
The man smiled, his cold blue eyes sliding past Roman to lock onto Tessa’s protruding stomach.
"I hear congratulations are in order," the man whispered, stepping into the red glare of the emergency lights. "The Vale syndicate finally has an heir. What a pity he won't live to see the sunrise."
