Chapter 8 - THE SILK SCARF
The deafening echo of the gunshot faded, replaced by the terrifying sound of shattering glass raining down upon the broad leaves of the orchids.
I clamped my hands over Sophie’s ears, my eyes wide with horror as I looked at the spot where Roman had been standing.
Roman was still on his feet.
He had spun around at my warning, his own weapon raised, but he hadn’t fired.
On the ground between Roman and Victor lay Elena.
She had thrown herself sideways in the split second Victor pulled the trigger. The bullet meant for Roman’s spine had caught her high in the chest.
She gasped, her bound hands useless as she collapsed onto the wet stones, a dark stain spreading rapidly across her trench coat.
Victor stared at her, stunned. In his blind desperation, he had shot his only ally.
Roman didn’t hesitate this time. He fired a single, precise shot.
The bullet struck Victor in the kneecap. Victor screamed, his leg buckling completely, and he crashed into a heavy wooden planter, dropping his gun. The weapon skittered across the floor, stopping at the edge of the stairwell, right next to my shoe.
I kicked it down the stairs into the darkness, making sure he could never reach it.
Roman kicked Victor squarely in the chest, pinning him to the floor.
“You’re done, Victor,” Roman snarled, his boot pressing hard against the man’s throat. “You breathe another word, you move an inch, and I’ll put the next one between your eyes.”
Victor choked, raising his hands in surrender, his face twisted in agony.
I scrambled over to Elena.
I knelt beside her, my hands hovering over the bleeding wound in her chest. She was gasping for air, her eyes wide and panicked.
“Why?” I cried, tearing the silk scarf from my neck—a cheap uniform accessory—and pressing it hard against her wound to stop the bleeding. “Why did you do that?”
Elena looked up at me, her face pale, the hatred that had defined her for five years suddenly gone, replaced by the terrified vulnerability of the little girl I used to know.
“He was… going to shoot… the child,” she wheezed, coughing up a spatter of blood. “I wanted you… to suffer. But I… I didn’t want to be… a monster.”
She reached up with trembling, bloodstained fingers and grabbed my wrist.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and her hand went limp.
“Elena? Elena, wake up!” I pressed harder on the scarf, sobbing. She was a murderer. She had ruined my life. But in her final conscious moment, she had remembered she was my sister. She had saved my daughter’s uncle.
Sirens wailed in the distance, a chaotic symphony of red and blue lights flashing through the shattered glass of the greenhouse.
Dozens of police cars, SWAT trucks, and ambulances were tearing up the long driveway of the estate.
Roman grabbed his radio from his belt. “Medical to the greenhouse, now. Two gunshot wounds. Move!”
He looked down at me. His face was entirely devoid of the cold mafia boss persona. He just looked like a man who had nearly lost everything.
He knelt beside me, placing his large, warm hand over mine, pressing down on the silk scarf to help me stop Elena’s bleeding.
“She has a pulse,” Roman said quietly, his thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. “The paramedics are thirty seconds away. She’ll live to face a jury.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Sophie crept up beside us, her little hand gripping the fabric of my dress. Roman reached out with his free hand and pulled Sophie into his side, holding her safe against his ribs.
Within seconds, the greenhouse was flooded with armed police and paramedics. They swarmed Victor, disarming him entirely and dragging him onto a stretcher. Another team gently pushed me aside, taking over Elena’s care, applying pressure dressings and loading her onto a backboard.
A grim-faced NYPD detective approached Roman.
“Mr. DeLuca,” the detective said, glancing around at the blood, the shattered glass, and the bound man on the stretcher. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Roman stood up slowly. He looked at the detective, then back at me.
“Yes, Detective, I do,” Roman said, his voice steady and resolute. “I have evidence of extortion, kidnapping, and attempted murder by Victor Hale. And I have a ledger in my safe that will dismantle the Hale syndicate entirely.”
Victor, who was being wheeled past us, weakly lifted his head. “You give them that ledger, Roman, you go down too! You’re part of it!”
Roman looked at his former friend with utter disgust. “I’m done, Victor. I’m giving them everything. I’m burning it all down.”
The detective raised an eyebrow. “You’re turning state’s evidence, DeLuca? You know what that means for you?”
“I know exactly what it means,” Roman said.
He turned to me. The sirens were deafening, the red and blue lights chaotic, but in that moment, it was just the three of us. Me, Roman, and Sophie.
“I have to go with them,” Roman told me softly. “I have to answer for my past. It’s the only way I can ensure Victor’s people never come after you again. The only way I can give you and Sophie a clean life.”
Panic gripped my chest. I grabbed his lapels, ignoring the blood on his shirt.
“Roman, no. You can’t leave us. They’ll lock you away.”
Roman smiled, a genuine, heartbreakingly tender smile. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then kissed the top of Sophie’s head.
“I have the best lawyers on earth, and I’m handing them the biggest syndicate on the East Coast on a silver platter,” he whispered. “I won’t be gone long. I promise you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy set of keys. He pressed them into my hand.
“Go to the townhouse in Aspen. My security team will take you. It’s safe. It’s in Leo’s name. Wait for me.”
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Before I could say another word, he stepped back, raised his hands, and let the detective lead him away into the flashing lights of the police cruisers.
I stood in the ruined greenhouse, holding the keys, clutching my daughter as the man who had saved us walked away in handcuffs.
