Chapter 13 - The Reckoning Looming
The kiss was consuming, fierce, and intoxicating. Every wall I had built, every ounce of rational caution melted under the heat of Roman’s mouth. His large hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against his hard chest as he carried me toward the velvet sofa, his lips trailing down my jawline to the hollow of my throat.
"You're mine, Elena," he growled against my skin, his voice thick with unbridled passion. "Do you hear me? No one touches you. No one takes you from me."
"I hear you," I gasped, tangling my fingers in his thick hair, arching into his touch.
For a fleeting, beautiful moment, the violence of our world faded into pure desire.
*BZZZZ. BZZZZ.*
The sudden, piercing vibration of Roman’s encrypted satellite phone shattered the intimacy.
Roman froze, his forehead resting against mine as he tried to catch his breath. "Ignore it," he muttered, leaning in to kiss me again.
*BZZZZ. BZZZZ.*
The emergency ringtone chimed three times—the code for an immediate catastrophic breach.
Roman cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling back. He snatched the phone from the coffee table and swiped the screen. "Speak."
Viktor’s frantic voice exploded through the speaker, so loud I could hear every word.
*"Boss! It’s not Petrov! It’s Marco—he fled to the southern district, but he didn't run alone! He tipped off the federal task force and Petrov’s remaining cartel commanders!"*
Roman’s expression instantly turned to stone. "What did they do, Viktor?"
*"They raided the downtown medical rehabilitation facility twenty minutes ago,"* Viktor said, his voice laced with dread. *"They took Elena’s younger sister, Clara."*
My blood turned to pure ice.
"Clara..." The name escaped my lips in a strangled sob. My sweet, sixteen-year-old sister, paralyzed from a car accident years ago, recovering in a secure clinic—the clinic I had worked two jobs to pay for.
Roman spun to look at me, horror and volcanic rage flashing across his chiseled face.
A notification pinged on Roman’s phone. A video message popped up.
Roman pressed play and angled the screen.
On the display was Marco, his treacherous face grinning into the camera from a dimly lit warehouse. Behind him, tied to a wheelchair with heavy zip-ties, was my terrified little sister Clara, sobbing uncontrollably with duct tape over her mouth.
*"Hello, Boss,"* Marco’s mocking voice echoed through the speaker. *"You gave up everything for this little waitress. Let's see how much she’s worth to you now. You have two hours to deliver yourself alone to the Ironworks Foundry without weapons. If you bring your army, Petrov slits her throat. If you don't show... we send her to you piece by piece."*
The video feed cut out, plunging the library into a terrifying, suffocating silence.
I fell to my knees on the hardwood floor, tears blinding my vision, clutching Roman’s sleeve in sheer, desperate agony. "Roman... please! Clara has nothing to do with this! She can't walk! Please save her!"
Roman didn't flinch. He dropped to his knees in front of me, taking my tear-streaked face in both of his massive hands. His pale gray eyes burned with a lethal, terrifying darkness that eclipsed anything I had seen before.
"Listen to me, Elena," Roman whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute, unstoppable resolve. "Nobody hurts your family. Nobody."
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He pulled me up, wrapping his arms around me tightly before turning toward the weapons locker.
"They wanted a war? They’re getting an execution. Get your coat, baby. We’re going to get your sister back."