Chapter 11 - The Silent Enemy
Harper stared at the black serpent eating a crown.
The world around her ceased to exist.
The sounds of the city faded into a dull, echoing hum.
She was suddenly eight years old again, hiding in the dark hallway closet.
She remembered the metallic smell of blood and the bitter sting of gunpowder.
She remembered the terrifying silhouette of a man standing over her father’s lifeless body.
And she remembered that exact same tattoo illuminated by a violent flash of lightning through the window.
Roman inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled a plume of gray smoke into the cold night air.
He turned his head slowly, locking his dark, unreadable eyes on her.
Harper instantly forced her expression into a mask of exhausted relief.
She buried her face in Chloe’s shoulder, hiding her trembling lips and the sheer terror in her eyes.
We need to move, Roman said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Davis will realize the offshore accounts have been routed through a ghost proxy within the hour.
He tossed the cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it beneath his expensive leather shoe.
Get in the SUV.
Chloe clung to Harper, her body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
Are we actually going with him? Chloe whispered in a panicked breath.
Harper did not have a choice.
If they ran now, Davis and the cartel would hunt them down by sunrise.
If they stayed with Roman, Harper was willingly placing herself in the custody of her father’s murderer.
Yes, Harper said, her voice hollow and mechanical.
She guided her sister into the backseat of the vehicle.
Roman slid into the driver’s seat.
He did not speak as he navigated the SUV through the labyrinth of industrial warehouses.
Harper sat in the back, her mind spinning wildly.
Why had Roman been watching her for six months?
Why did he intervene with Derek?
He had orchestrated this entire night.
He had used her to steal seventy million dollars, but that was just a transaction.
Men like Roman Falco did not accidentally cross paths with the daughters of the men they murdered.
This was not a coincidence.
This was a calculated, long-term game, and Harper was merely a pawn on his bloody chessboard.
They drove for an hour, leaving the glowing skyline of the city far behind.
The SUV finally turned onto a secluded, heavily wooded road that led to a massive iron gate.
Armed guards patrolled the perimeter with attack dogs.
The gates swung open, revealing a sprawling stone mansion bathed in harsh security lights.
Welcome to the sanctuary, Roman said, putting the car in park.
No one gets in here without my explicit invitation.
Harper stepped out of the car, her bare feet aching against the cold gravel.
She looked at the imposing fortress and realized the devastating truth.
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She had not escaped the nightmare.
She had just been locked inside a much darker, much deadlier cage.
