Chapter 14 - The Family Debt
14 - 15
The cold steel of the gun barrel pressed firmly against Marcus Vance Senior’s throat. The older man’s breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, his hands instinctively grasping at Roman’s wrists, trying in vain to pry the younger man’s iron grip loose.
“You talk about bloodlines, Marcus,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet and lethal it felt like frost forming on the concrete floor. “You talk about family legacy as if you didn't spend thirty years trying to embezzle your own brother blind before faking your own death to escape federal prosecution.”
“Roman… wait…” Marcus choked out, his aristocratic composure entirely shattered, sweat beading heavily on his forehead. “You can't… you can't kill your own blood. The board… the primary trust—if I die without executing the secondary release, the entire infrastructure locks up permanently. Your assets will be frozen by federal probate court within forty-eight hours!”
Miller stepped forward, his tactical tablet in hand, tapping the screen twice. “Checking secondary trust parameters now, sir… he’s bluffing. The legacy override he downloaded gives him legal leverage to contest ownership, but it doesn't hold the operational keys. We can purge his credentials remotely.”
Roman didn't blink. He maintained the pressure of the weapon against Marcus’s throat, leaning in close so that their faces were mere inches apart.
“I don't care about the trust, Marcus,” Roman whispered, his gray eyes flashing with an unholy light. “I don't care about the buildings, the shipping lanes, or the money. If I have to burn this entire empire to the ground and start from absolute zero to keep you from ever breathing near my wife again, I will do it before you can finish your next sentence.”
Sadi watched the confrontation unfold, her expression entirely calm. She stepped closer, placing her hand gently on Roman’s forearm. The touch was light, but it carried an anchoring weight that made Roman’s rigid muscles ease just a fraction.
“Roman,” Sadi said softly.
Roman paused, glancing sideways at her without lowering his weapon.
“Don't dirty your hands with him,” Sadi said, her dark eyes shifting to lock onto Marcus, who was trembling violently against the filing cabinets. “Men like Marcus don't fear a quick death. They fear irrelevance. They fear losing the only thing they ever truly cared about—their control, their status, and their illusion of superiority.”
Sadi stepped directly in front of Roman, looking down at the cowering man with cold, absolute pity.
“You thought you could pull strings from Zurich, Marcus,” Sadi said, her voice cutting through the damp air of the vault like a razor blade. “You thought sending a pathetic, broken pawn like Trevor to harass me at a mall would rattle our cage. You thought you were orchestrating a grand chess game from the shadows.”
Marcus stared at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and incomprehension. “You… you’re the girl from the report. The diner worker.”
“I was,” Sadi replied evenly. “And now I’m the woman who is about to watch you lose everything you spent fifteen years hiding behind.”
She turned back to Roman. “Take the thumb drive, lock him in the lowest-security isolation cell we have in the basement, and let federal marshals pick him up on his old outstanding RICO warrants by morning. Let the world see that the great Marcus Vance didn't die in a plane crash—he was arrested hiding in a rat hole.”
Roman stared at her for a long moment, a slow, dark, appreciative smile spreading across his face. He lowered his weapon, though he kept a firm, bruising grip on Marcus’s coat collar before hurling him violently to the concrete floor.
Marcus landed with a dull thud, gasping for air as he clutched his bruised ribs.
“You heard my wife,” Roman said coldly, stepping over Marcus’s sprawling form. “Miller, secure the thumb drive, scrub his biometric data from the legacy servers, and prep the federal transfer paperwork.”
“Right away, Mr. Vance,” Miller grinned, snapping a pair of heavy tactical zip-ties around Marcus’s wrists before hauling the older man roughly to his feet.
As Marcus was dragged away toward the subterranean holding cells, sputtering curses and empty threats that echoed down the empty concrete corridor, Roman turned back to Sadi, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against his chest.
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“You are terrifying when you want to be,” Roman murmured against her hair, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.
“I learned from the best,” Sadi whispered back, looking up into his eyes with a fierce, unwavering smile.
