Chapter 2 - The Blood on the Ivory Altar
The silence inside the penthouse suite grew heavy enough to suffocate a grown man.
Roman stared down at his blood-stained hand as if it belonged to a total stranger.
The crimson smear on his pristine white silk shirt gleamed mockingly under the chandelier light.
“Look at me,” Roman commanded, his voice devoid of any human emotion.
Harper slowly lifted her heavy eyelids, her face drained of every trace of color.
Without another word, Roman scooped her lightweight frame effortlessly into his arms.
She let out a sharp gasp as the sudden movement shifted the torn flesh at her side.
“Don’t you dare pass out on me now,” he ordered, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched.
He carried her down the long hallway toward the master suite with terrifying speed.
Kicking the mahogany bedroom door open, he deposited her gently onto the center of the oversized velvet bed.
“Dr. Vance,” Roman barked into his encrypted satellite phone without breaking eye contact with Harper.
“Get to the penthouse immediately, and bring your surgical kit.”
Before the voice on the other end could even respond, Roman disconnected the call and dropped the phone onto the carpet.
He immediately reached for the hem of her ruined wedding dress, his large hands working with practiced ruthlessness.
“Roman, stop,” Harper protested weakly, trying to push his hands away from her waist.
“Shut up, Harper,” he snapped, ripping the delicate lace apart to expose the ugly, festering bullet wound.
The sight of the torn, bruised flesh made Roman’s breath catch in his throat.
It was a clean entry wound, but the lack of proper medical attention had caused the tissue to swell and bleed continuously.
“Who did this?” Roman growled, his voice dropping into a register that promised absolute slaughter.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harper breathed out, her teeth chattering from sudden shock and blood loss.
“Everything matters right now,” he snarled, tearing a strip of linen from a nearby decorative pillow to bind the wound tightly.
“If you go after Rossi tonight, the commission will vote against you,” she whispered frantically, grabbing his wrist.
“Let them vote,” Roman hissed, applying fierce pressure to stop the hemorrhaging.
“I went to the warehouse because I knew about the missing millions,” she confessed, a tear finally escaping down her pale cheek.
“I found the ledger, Roman.”
“It’s hidden in the lining of my garment bag in the dressing room.”
Roman paused for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous mixture of fury and newfound respect.
“You risked your life for my books,” he stated, not as a question, but as a chilling realization.
“I risked my life because nobody else was going to protect you from the inside,” she shot back, her spirit refusing to fade entirely.
The heavy front door of the penthouse rattled open with the sound of hurried footsteps.
Dr. Vance burst into the bedroom clutching his black leather medical bag, his face slick with nervous sweat.
“Get over here, Vance,” Roman ordered, stepping aside just enough to give the doctor access.
“Boss, what in the world happened?” Vance asked, his eyes widening at the sight of the blood-soaked wedding gown.
“She was shot forty-eight hours ago and walked through our entire wedding like a ghost,” Roman said coldly, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Stitch her up, clean the infection, and save her life.”
“If she loses a single drop of blood you can’t spare, you’ll answer to me.”
Without waiting for Vance to reply, Roman turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom.
He walked straight into his private study, closing the heavy oak doors behind him with a definitive click.
The celebratory sounds of the distant wedding reception still drifted faintly through the reinforced glass windows.
Roman walked over to his mahogany desk and unlocked the bottom drawer with a heavy brass key.
He pulled out a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol and checked the loaded chamber with a sharp metallic click.
Then he reached for his secure satellite phone and dialed a direct, encrypted number.
“Marcus,” Roman said the moment the line connected on the other end.
May you like
“Get the strike team assembled at the south gates within twenty minutes.”
“We’re paying Victor Rossi an uninvited visit before the sun comes up.”
