Chapter 7 - THE GHOST’S SACRIFICE
The silence that followed Marcus’s threat was thick, suffocating, and heavy with the metallic tang of impending violence.
Sadi stood perfectly still.
To her left, Trevor was unraveling, his hand shaking violently as he held the gun against her crying brother’s head. To her right, a mafia underboss had a weapon leveled directly at her chest.
She should have been terrified. She should have dropped to her knees and begged.
But as she looked at Leo’s tear-streaked face, the fear burned away, leaving only a white-hot, razor-sharp clarity.
“You’re pathetic, Trevor,” Sadi said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a crack of a whip.
Trevor flinched, his eyes darting toward her. “Shut up! Shut your mouth, Sadi, or I swear to God—”
“You’re a coward,” she continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, entirely ignoring the gun Marcus was pointing at her. “You were a coward when you stole from my jar to buy cheap suits, you were a coward when you ran away in the middle of the night, and you are a coward now, using a three-year-old child to hide from the consequences of your own pathetic life.”
Trevor’s breathing grew ragged. “I did what I had to do! You were an anchor! I deserved better than you!”
“You deserved exactly this,” Sadi said coldly. She opened her silver clutch and pulled out the rhodium cufflinks she had bought earlier that day. She tossed them onto the marble floor. They clattered loudly, stopping inches from Trevor’s shoes. “You wanted the world to see you as a rich, powerful man. Look around, Trevor. They see you exactly as you are. A parasite.”
Trevor stared down at the cufflinks, his grip on Leo faltering for just a fraction of a second.
It was all Roman needed.
Answer one: Roman hadn’t brought Sadi here just to confront Trevor; he had brought her here to draw Marcus out into the open.
“Marcus,” Roman said, his voice suddenly dropping its calm veneer, replaced by the terrifying roar of the ghost.
The underboss shifted his gaze to Roman, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Any last words, Vance?”
“Just two,” Roman said.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't dive for cover.
Instead, Roman reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, ornate silver rosary.
He tossed it through the air.
The reversal hit Marcus instantly. The scarred man’s eyes widened in absolute horror as he recognized the rosary. It belonged to Don Moretti, the head of his family. The man Marcus took orders from.
“He’s dead, Marcus,” Roman said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “I dismantled your family this morning. Your men aren’t waiting for you outside. My men are.”
Marcus froze, the gun in his hand wavering as the reality of his complete isolation crashed down on him.
In that split second of hesitation, Arthur and Silas—Roman’s massive bodyguards—burst from the shadows of the catering hallway.
The gunfire was deafening.
Two suppressed shots dropped Marcus to the marble floor before the underboss could even pull his trigger.
But the sound sent Trevor over the edge.
Screaming in pure panic, Trevor shoved Leo violently to the floor and bolted toward the service exit, aiming his gun blindly over his shoulder and pulling the trigger.
BANG.
The shot rang out, wild and uncontrolled.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Sadi saw the muzzle flash. She saw the trajectory. The bullet wasn't aimed at Roman. It was flying directly toward Leo, who was frozen on the ground.
“No!” Sadi screamed, throwing herself forward.
But she wasn't fast enough.
A black blur moved past her.
Roman dove across the marble floor, placing his massive frame entirely between the flying bullet and the little boy.
The sickening thwack of lead tearing into flesh echoed through the ballroom.
Roman hit the ground hard, his shoulder slamming into the ice sculpture, shattering a piece of it across the floor. Blood, dark and wet, immediately bloomed across the pristine white fabric of his tuxedo shirt.
“Roman!” Sadi shrieked, sliding onto her knees beside him, her hands pressing desperately against his chest.
Roman didn't groan. He didn't look at his wound. He immediately reached out his good arm, grabbing Leo by the back of his tiny tuxedo jacket and pulling the child safely into his chest, shielding him from any further harm.
Trevor hit the service doors, bursting out into the cold night air, his coat tearing on the doorframe. He had escaped.
Sadi looked down at her hands, slick with her husband's blood, her heart tearing into pieces.
Roman looked up at her, his breathing shallow but his dark eyes burning with an intense, unyielding light.
“He won't get far,” Roman whispered, coughing slightly. “Arthur.”
The bodyguard was already moving. “On it, Boss.”
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Roman looked down at the terrified little boy clutched against his uninjured side. Leo was staring at the man who had just taken a bullet for him, his dark eyes wide.
“It’s okay, piccolo,” Roman murmured, his terrifying voice softening into a gentle, protective rumble. “Nobody is going to take you ever again.”
