Chapter 7 - The Vulnerability of a King
Two weeks passed.
Life inside The Obsidian was unlike anything I had ever imagined.
The dark, blood-soaked night of Dante's betrayal felt like a distant, bad dream. The mansion was quiet, luxurious, and filled with a strange kind of peace.
Lily’s health had completely restored. She spent her mornings playing in the vast gardens under the watchful, surprisingly gentle eye of Viktor, who had turned out to be a soft-hearted giant when it came to seven-year-old girls. He had even built her a wooden swing set under the massive oak tree in the back courtyard.
I had been given free rein of the estate, minus Roman’s private study and the underground security levels.
Every night, Roman, Lily, and I ate dinner together at the massive dining table. The man who ruled the East Coast underworld with an iron fist would sit quietly while Lily rambled on about her drawings, her favorite colors, and how Viktor had let her win at hide-and-seek.
And every night, I caught Roman looking at me across the candlelit table with an intensity that made my pulse race.
On a warm Thursday afternoon, I was sitting in the estate’s sunroom, watching Lily paint a picture at her small wooden easel.
The double doors opened, and Roman walked in.
He was wearing a dark blue suit, looking immaculate as always, but his face was tense, his jaw tightly set.
"Clara," Roman said, gesturing toward the hallway. "A word."
I stood up, telling Lily I’d be right back, and followed him out into the corridor.
"What's wrong?" I asked, noticing the subtle tension in his broad shoulders.
"Salvatore Moretti," Roman said, his voice low. "The head of the Moretti family. He called an emergency meeting of the five families for tonight."
My heart sank. "Why?"
"Dante’s death left a power vacuum in the northern docks," Roman explained, leaning against the marble wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Moretti thinks I’m weak because I spent three weeks in a coma. He wants to challenge my control over the shipping lanes."
"Is there going to be a war?" I whispered, fear creeping back into my chest.
"No," Roman said coldly. "Because I am going to end him before he can start one."
He looked at me, his gray eyes searching my face.
"I am leaving for the city in an hour," Roman continued. "Viktor will stay here with twenty guards. The estate is on full lockdown. Nobody comes in, nobody goes out."
"Roman," I said, stepping closer to him without thinking, my hand instinctively reaching out to grab his forearm. "Be careful."
Roman looked down at my hand resting against his sleeve. A slow, genuine warmth filled his eyes as he reached over, covering my hand with his large, warm palm.
"Two weeks ago, I didn't care if I lived or died, Clara," Roman murmured softly, his thumb tracing the soft skin of my wrist. "My life was just a series of transactions and blood. Now... I have a reason to come home."
My breath caught in my throat. The air between us suddenly grew heavy with an unspoken, magnetic electric pull.
Before either of us could say another word, a sharp alarm began to blare throughout the mansion.
Red emergency lights flashed along the ceiling corridors.
Wail! Wail! Wail!
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The heavy oak doors at the end of the hallway burst open. A blood-covered security guard stumbled inside, falling to his knees.
"Boss!" the guard choked out, blood pouring from a wound in his side. "It's a strike team! Moretti's men... they bypassed the outer gate! They're inside the courtyard!"
