Chapter 2 - THE SILVER WATCH
The Russian assassin stood in the dark, the silhouette of his suppressed pistol casting a long, deadly shadow across the pristine carpet. "Cassian? You in there?"
Under the bed, Maya’s lungs screamed for air. The red LED on the bomb blinked furiously.
Roman didn’t blink. His dark eyes remained locked on Maya’s terrified face. In one impossibly fluid motion, he reached into the breast pocket of his tailored suit, withdrew a suppressed sleek black handgun, and shifted his weight.
He didn't fire at the man. He fired at the heavy glass vase resting on the nightstand.
Thwip. Crash.
The assassin spun toward the shattered glass, firing two silent rounds into the dark corner. In that split second, Roman hooked his massive hand under Maya’s waist, dragging her out from under the bed with bruising force. He hurled her behind the solid oak armoire just as the Russian realized his mistake and pivoted back.
Thwip. Thwip.
Roman fired twice. The Russian hit the floor like a sack of wet cement.
Maya scrambled backward, her hands slick with cold sweat, pressing her back against the wall. She clamped her hands over her ears, waiting for the gunfire to erupt from the second man on the balcony.
It never came. Roman had already moved, his steps entirely silent. He stepped out onto the terrace. A dull thud echoed through the glass, followed by a heavy splash in the private plunge pool.
When Roman walked back into the bedroom, he didn’t look like a billionaire heir. He looked like the apex predator Chicago whispered about.
He knelt beside the dead Russian, rifling through the man's tactical vest. Maya watched, trembling violently, as Roman pulled out a heavy, vintage silver pocket watch. It was deeply tarnished, bearing an intricate crest—a snarling wolf.
Roman’s expression, previously carved from ice, fractured. His jaw tightened so hard Maya thought his teeth would crack.
"Not the Italians," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a cold, terrifying grief. "My own blood."
He shoved the watch into his pocket and finally turned his terrifying gaze to Maya. She was a nobody. A maid in a stained uniform, trembling on the floor.
"Please," Maya choked out, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. "I didn't see anything. I was just looking for my ring. It's cheap, it's just zirconia, but it was my husband's—"
Roman reached into his pocket. When he opened his palm, Maya’s breath caught. Sitting in the center of his scarred hand was her cheap, silver-plated wedding band.
"I found this by the nightstand," Roman said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "You saw his face. You heard his voice. That makes you a witness. And my father leaves no witnesses."
May you like
Maya’s heart plummeted. "Your father?"
"The man who just tried to blow me into pieces," Roman said, grabbing her upper arm and hauling her to her feet. "Get your coat, Maya. If you stay here, you’re dead by midnight."
