Chapter 20 - The New Empire
Roman slowly lowered his pistol, his dark eyes locked entirely on Harper.
He did not look panicked.
He looked completely calm.
Let her go, Derek, Roman said softly.
You have no money.
You have no cartel backing you.
You are a dead man holding a hostage.
Shut up! Derek shrieked, his grip tightening violently around Harper’s windpipe.
I'm walking out that door!
Harper struggled to breathe, the cold steel of the revolver grinding against her skull.
She looked at Roman.
Roman gave her a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
It was the same look he had given his men before they breached a room.
It was permission.
Harper reached into her pocket.
Her hand wrapped around the silver letter opener she had kept since the night at the estate.
She drove her elbow viciously into Derek’s ribs.
As he gasped and loosened his grip, Harper spun around.
She plunged the heavy silver letter opener deep into Derek’s thigh.
Derek screamed in agony, dropping the revolver as his leg buckled beneath him.
He crashed to the bloody tiles, clutching his leg, weeping like a broken child.
Harper stood over him, breathing heavily, staring down at the man who had kept her trapped in a nightmare for two years.
She picked up the revolver from the floor.
She pointed it at Derek’s chest.
Harper, please, Derek sobbed, holding his bloody hands up.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Harper felt the heavy, cold weight of the gun in her hands.
She could end it right now.
She could be exactly like Roman.
Roman stood silently in the background, watching her closely, waiting to see what she would become.
Harper lowered the gun.
She popped the cylinder open, dumped the bullets onto the floor, and tossed the empty weapon onto Derek’s chest.
I am not you, she whispered to Derek.
And I am not my father.
She turned her back on him and walked toward the exit.
Roman signaled to one of his men in the shadows.
A single, silenced gunshot echoed behind Harper.
She did not flinch.
She did not look back.
She knew Derek was gone forever.
Roman walked beside her as they pushed open the heavy steel doors and stepped out into the cool, dark streets of New York City.
The war is over, Roman said quietly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
The Vargas cartel is gone.
You and your sister have new identities, passports, and a very comfortable bank account waiting for you in Switzerland.
He lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating the sharp angles of his face.
You are free, Harper.
Harper looked out at the city skyline.
She had spent her entire life running from the ghost of her father, only to discover she had inherited his brilliant, dangerous mind.
She had survived a cartel war, outsmarted a crime lord, and walked out of a slaughterhouse covered in blood but entirely unbroken.
She looked at Roman Falco.
The man who had saved her life twice.
The man who ruled the underworld she was born into.
I am not going to Switzerland, Harper said, her voice smooth and absolute.
Roman stopped.
He looked at her, his dark eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and profound respect.
And where exactly are you going? he asked.
Harper turned to him, a cold, predatory smile forming on her lips.
I am going to help you rebuild your syndicate, she said.
But this time, I want half.
Roman stared at her for a long, silent moment.
May you like
Then, the Devil smiled back.
Deal, he whispered into the dark.
