Chapter 17 - The Bargain
The estate plunged into pitch blackness.
Outside, snow fell in thick, silent sheets, blanketing the grounds in ghostly white. Inside the stone corridors of the manor, only the faint emerald emergency floor-strips cast an eerie, underwater glow.
The heavy thud of tactical boots echoed on the grand staircase.
Vivienne crouched behind the thick mahogany bar in the second-floor library, her fingers wrapped tight around the grip of the Glock 19 Roman had handed her. Her heart raced, but her mind was crystal clear.
*“Breath in for four, hold for four, exhale for four,”* Roman had whispered to her before melting into the shadows above. *“Fear is an emotion. Aiming is a discipline.”*
Through the frosted glass doors of the library, Vivienne saw two shadows moving.
They wore night-vision goggles, assault rifles held at the ready, sweeping the room with disciplined, military precision. Petrov’s Spetsnaz-trained mercenaries.
Then came a voice that made the blood in Vivienne’s veins curdle.
“Vivienne!”
Nathan’s voice.
It was thin, strained, and high-pitched with manic adrenaline. He sounded unhinged, like a dog that had rabies and knew its time was running out.
“Come on out, baby!” Nathan called out, his footsteps shuffling unevenly on the hardwood floor outside the library doors. “I know you’re in here! The Russians promised me my life if I deliver you alive! You owe me, Viv! You ruined my reputation! You ruined my company!”
Vivienne’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.
*I ruined his company?*
He had gambled their life savings on high-stakes poker games in illegal backrooms, beaten her when she found the second mortgage notices, and dragged her name through the mud to save his own miserable skin.
“You always were a pathetic coward, Nathan,” Vivienne spoke aloud, her voice ringing steady and clear through the dark library.
The footsteps stopped instantly.
The two mercenaries kicked the library doors open, raising their rifles toward the mahogany bar.
*Crack! Crack!*
From the vaulted ceiling above, two heavy silenced gunshots dropped both mercenaries instantly, their bodies collapsing onto the oriental rugs with dull thuds.
Roman dropped from the mezzanine banister like a predatory wraith, landing silently on the balls of his feet behind them. Without a second glance at the corpses, Roman raised his weapon and aimed directly down the corridor.
Nathan stood in the doorway, frozen in terror.
He looked disheveled, his expensive overcoat torn, his face pale and sunken, eyes bloodshot and wide with manic desperation. He was holding a small revolver, but his hand shook so violently the barrel wobbled in small, pathetic circles.
“R-Roman,” Nathan stammered, stepping back, his shoes sliding against the blood pooling beneath the dead mercenary. “Stay back! I have friends! The Petrovs have surrounded this entire hill! You can’t kill me!”
Vivienne stood up from behind the bar.
She walked slowly into the corridor, stepping over the fallen glass, her gun lowered at her side.
Nathan’s eyes darted to her, a sickening, desperate grin stretching across his cracked lips. “Viv! Viv, tell him! Tell him to let me go! We were married, Viv! Five years! You loved me once!”
Vivienne stopped five paces away from him.
The moonlight filtering through the high bay windows illuminated her face. There was no pity in her eyes. No fear. No hatred. Only total, absolute disgust.
“I loved the man I thought you were, Nathan,” Vivienne said, her voice dropping into a whisper that cut through the silence like a razor blade. “The man standing in front of me is nothing. You aren't a husband. You aren't even a man. You’re a parasite looking for someone else to bleed.”
“Shut up!” Nathan shrieked, swinging the revolver toward her face. “Shut your mouth, you ungrateful bitch!”
Before Nathan’s finger could even touch the trigger, Roman closed the distance.
With sickening speed, Roman caught Nathan’s wrist, twisting it until the sickening *snap* of fracturing bone echoed off the stone walls.
Nathan screamed, dropping the revolver as he fell to his knees, clutching his mangled wrist to his chest, sobbing hysterically on the floor.
Roman kicked the fallen gun down the hall, then grabbed Nathan by the hair, jerking his head back until his tear-streaked face was exposed to the moonlight.
“Did you hear what she said?” Roman growled, pressing the warm barrel of his pistol against Nathan’s forehead. “She said you’re nothing.”
“Please!” Nathan sobbed, wetting himself on the Persian rug. “Roman, please! I’ll tell you where Petrov’s main hub is! I have the offshore account codes! Just let me live! Please!”
Roman didn't look at Nathan. He looked up at Vivienne.
His gray eyes were dark pools of question, leaving the verdict entirely in her hands.
“What do you want to do with him, Miss Cross?” Roman asked softly. “Give the word, and he feeds the river tonight.”
Vivienne looked down at the sobbing, broken wreck of the man who had terrified her for five long years.
Killing him would be easy. But killing him was an escape Nathan didn't deserve.
“Death is too clean for him,” Vivienne said cold as ice. “Take his ledger. Empty his hidden accounts into the domestic violence shelters across the city. And then send him to Petrov’s front door with a note saying Nathan sold them out.”
A look of pure, paralyzing horror washed over Nathan’s face. “No! No, Roman! Petrov will skin me alive! Please, just shoot me! Viv, please!”
Roman let out a low, dark chuckle that sent shivers down the hallway.
He looked at Vivienne with sheer, unadulterated adoration.
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“You have a terrifying mind, Miss Cross,” Roman whispered. “Matteo! Bag this piece of trash and put him in the trunk.”
***
