Chapter 13 - The Unseen Strings
Harper stepped backward, her spine hitting the heavy oak bookcase.
You are lying, she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror.
My father was a good man.
He was a victim.
Roman did not move, but his sheer presence felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.
Good men do not build untraceable financial empires for human traffickers, Roman stated coldly.
Good men do not embezzle cartel funds and use their own daughters as insurance policies.
Harper pulled the silver letter opener from her pocket and leveled it at his chest.
Stay away from me, she commanded, her hands shaking violently.
I saw your wrist at the warehouse.
I saw the serpent tattoo.
I know you were the one who killed him.
Roman looked down at the makeshift weapon in her hand.
He did not flinch.
He did not look surprised.
He simply unrolled the sleeve of his black sweater, fully exposing the faded black serpent eating a crown on his inner wrist.
You have an exceptional memory for an eight-year-old child hiding in a closet, Roman said quietly.
Harper felt a tear hot and furious slide down her cheek.
Why didn't you kill me too? she choked out.
Why wait twenty years to finish the job?
Roman reached out with terrifying speed.
Before Harper could react, he gripped her wrist, applying just enough pressure to make her fingers go numb.
The letter opener clattered to the hardwood floor.
Because I did not pull the trigger, Harper.
His voice was dangerously quiet, vibrating with an intensity that made the room feel suffocating.
I was in that house twenty years ago to extract your father.
He had promised to turn state's evidence against the cartel in exchange for my syndicate's protection.
Roman let go of her wrist and took a step back, giving her room to breathe.
But we were too late, he continued.
The Vargas cartel sent their own cleaner.
I walked into the study just as the assassin put a bullet in your father’s head.
Harper stared at him, her mind frantically trying to process the revelation.
I saw your arm, she whispered, her voice breaking.
You reached out.
I reached out to check his pulse, Roman corrected her.
And when I heard you crying in the closet, I made a choice.
I could have handed you over to the cartel, who were actively searching the house for his stolen money.
Instead, I shot the assassin, wiped the security feeds, and walked away so the police would find you unharmed.
Harper sank onto the edge of the velvet armchair.
Her entire life, her entire perception of reality, was disintegrating before her eyes.
Why tell me this now? she asked softly.
Because Davis is not dead, Roman replied, his tone shifting back to absolute business.
He survived the shootout at the penthouse.
He knows you drained the accounts, but he also knows who you really are.
Roman walked to the door and paused with his hand on the brass knob.
May you like
Davis is coming for the encryption keys your father hid.
And he will burn this entire city to the ground to get them.
