“Following orders doesn’t excuse your choices,” Roman replied. “You could have sent a message a hundred different ways, but you chose the cruelest. You chose terror. You chose to make a child watch her mother suffer.” — “She needed to remember it,” Jack snapped. “That’s the whole point of a message. To make it stick.”
“Then this will stick,” Roman said quietly. “What happens next? It’ll be a message that stays.” Red spoke up from his position by the window, his voice shaking slightly. “Listen, man, we didn’t know anyone would care. Ellen is a nobody. She’s a waitress who got greedy. In our world, that has consequences.” — “In my world,” Roman said, “putting women in trees has consequences too.”
Tony, the youngest, couldn’t stay silent any longer. “We’re sorry. Okay? We’ll leave. We’ll tell Kostas the job is done, that she’s dead. Whatever you want. We’ll disappear. You’ll never see us again.” Dean made a sound that might have been a laugh if there had been any warmth in it. Roman studied Tony for a long moment. The kid was maybe twenty-five. There was still fear in his eyes that hadn’t been completely replaced by the callousness that marked the others.
But he had been there. He had participated. “Regret isn’t the same as innocence. Ellen is alive,” Roman said. “Her daughter is alive. They’re under my protection now.” — “Which means?” — “That the message I want to send to Kostas has completely failed.” Jack’s face twisted with fury. “Then he’ll just send someone else. You think protecting two nobodies is worth starting a war?” — “I don’t start wars,” Roman replied. “I finish them.”
He pulled a phone out with his free hand, keeping his weapon steadily aimed at Jack. A few quick taps. Then he turned the screen so the men could see it. It was a photo. A grainy surveillance shot of Victor Kostas entering a restaurant downtown. The time stamp was three hours ago. “Your boss doesn’t know what happened today,” Roman said. “He doesn’t know you failed. He doesn’t know I intervened.”
“Right now, he’s having dinner, making plans, completely unaware that his operation is about to collapse.” — “You can’t touch Kostas,” Jack said. But his voice had lost its conviction. “He’s got connections, protection, people who…” — “Everyone has connections until they don’t,” Roman interrupted. “Everyone feels untouchable until someone touches them.” He pocketed the phone and straightened up. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to give you a choice. Which is more than you gave Ellen.”
The four men waited, barely breathing. “Option one: You tell me everything about Kostas’s operation. Where he operates, who he works with, where the money is kept, who protects him. You give me every detail, and maybe, just maybe, you walk out of here alive.” — “And option two?” Pete asked from the fireplace. Roman’s expression didn’t change. “There is no option two.” Jack laughed bitterly. “So it’s not really a choice.” — “It’s more of a choice than you gave a woman begging for her life while her daughter watched.”
The truth of it hit like a physical blow. Even Red looked away, shame or something close to it flickering on his face. “Clock’s ticking,” Dean said quietly. Tony broke first. “Kostas runs out of the Sapphire Lounge on Main Street. He’s got storage units in the old industrial docks where he runs card games.” — “Shut up!” Jack roared, lunging to his feet. Roman’s weapon was on him instantly. “Sit down. We’re dead anyway. Don’t you get it? We talk, Kostas kills us. We don’t talk, he kills us. There’s no way out.”
“There’s always a way out,” Roman said. “Sometimes it’s just narrower than you’d like.” Dawn was breaking when Roman returned to the safe house, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink that felt almost indecent after the night’s work. Dean drove while Matt sat in the back, methodically cleaning his weapon. None of them spoke; there was nothing left to say. The cabin in the woods would never hear voices again.
The forest had reclaimed its silence, and the four men who thought they were untouchable had learned a final lesson about consequences. Roman had made his choice. The same choice he always made when mercy and justice stood on opposite sides of the line. Some lines weren’t meant to be crossed. Victor met them at the door. His expression was neutral, but his eyes asked questions his mouth wouldn’t utter in front of the others.
Roman gave a barely perceptible nod. Enough to communicate that everything necessary had been handled, nothing more. “Status?” Roman asked quietly. “Ellen is awake, conscious, asking for her daughter.” Victor paused. “And asking for you.” Roman pulled off his jacket, noticing the mud on the sleeves, a small tear at the shoulder. He handed it to Dean, who vanished to dispose of it properly. Some evidence didn’t need to exist.
“Maya is asleep in the chair next to her mother’s bed. Won’t leave. Hasn’t left since you went out.” Roman nodded, moving down the elegant hallway toward the medical wing. His footsteps were silent on the marble floors. Years of practice had made stealth a reflex. He stopped at the partially open door, watching before he entered. Ellen was propped up on pillows. Her wrists were wrapped in clean white bandages that stood out sharply against her pale skin. An IV was taped to her left hand.
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