Chapter 3 - Breaking the Syndicate
"You can't do anything to us," Camille spat, her terror rapidly morphing into defiant rage as she stepped back toward the door. "My father controls sixty percent of the harbor police and half the city council! If you touch me or Arthur, my father will lay siege to your shipping lines by nightfall!"
"Your father is already losing his empire, Camille," a voice called out from the doorway.
Naomi Wells stepped into the office. She was no longer wearing her housekeeper's apron. She wore a sharp black blazer, her dark hair pulled back neatly, holding a secure encrypted laptop.
"What is she doing here?!" Camille shrieked, looking at Naomi in disbelief. "She’s a maid!"
"She's the daughter of Arthur Wells," I corrected coldly, watching Arthur Velez’s eyes widen in sheer panic. "The man you and Patrick Sloane framed for fraud before seizing his shipping fleet eight years ago."
Naomi opened her laptop and turned it toward Arthur.
"While you were busy manipulating Roman’s domestic life," Naomi said, her tone razor-sharp, "I spent the last three weeks transferring the digital ledger of Patrick Sloane’s illegal offshore accounts—the ones you set up for him, Arthur—directly to the Federal Organized Crime Task Force."
Arthur’s knees buckled. He sank onto the leather couch, clutching his chest. "You... you sent the offshore ledgers?"
"Every single one," Naomi confirmed with a cold, triumphant smile. "The federal warrants for Patrick Sloane, his top lieutenants, and you, Arthur, were signed forty minutes ago."
Camille’s eyes went wild. She reached into her handbag, intending to pull out her phone or a weapon, but I crossed the room in a flash, slamming my hand down on her wrist and pinning her against the wall.
She gasped in pain as the handbag dropped to the floor.
"Listen to me very carefully, Camille," I growled, bringing my face inches from hers, my dark eyes boring into her soul. "You touched my children. You made my daughter cry. You struck my son. In my world, that carries a death sentence."
"Roman... please..." she whimpered, her arrogance completely evaporating into pathetic terror.
"I won't kill you," I whispered, my voice dripping with icy contempt. "Death is too quick. Instead, you are going to watch your father spend the rest of his miserable life in a maximum-security federal prison. And you will spend yours penniless, disgraced, and hunted by every creditor your family ever robbed."
I looked over my shoulder at Marcus, my chief of security, who had just entered the room with four armed guards.
"Take Arthur and Camille to the holding suite downstairs," I commanded. "When the federal agents arrive at Patrick Sloane’s estate, hand them over as material witnesses."
"No! Roman! Please!" Camille screamed as Marcus and the guards grabbed her arms, dragging her screaming out of the office. Arthur offered no resistance; he looked like a walking corpse as he was led away in handcuffs.
When the heavy doors closed, the office fell silent.
I stood in the center of the room, taking a long, deep breath. The immediate threat was neutralized, but the deepest wounds—the ones inflicted on my children's fragile hearts—were still wide open.
I turned to Naomi, who was closing her laptop.
"Thank you," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "You saved my children."
Naomi looked at me, her sharp eyes softening. "We're not finished yet, Roman. Patrick Sloane won't go down without a fight. When he realizes his daughter has been captured and his accounts are frozen, he will strike at the one thing he knows you love."
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"My children," I said, my hands clenching into tight fists.
"We need to get Jack and Rosie out of the city tonight," Naomi urged. "Before Sloane unleashes his men on this estate."
