Chapter 7 - THE TASTE OF WAR|
The news hit at seven o'clock the next morning.
I was sipping black coffee in Roman's sunlit dining room when Dominic rushed in, holding an encrypted phone.
"Boss," Dominic said grimly. "Moretti's guys just hit the downtown gallery. They smashed the front display glass and left a dead wolf on the floor."
I set my coffee cup down so fast it rattled against the saucer. "My gallery..."
"It’s a warning," Roman said calmly, not even breaking his posture as he cut into his steak. "Marco is signaling that he claims Miles's debt."
"I don't owe Marco Moretti a dime!" I snapped, standing up, anger burning through the exhaustion in my veins. "I cleared the debt with you!"
"To the underground, you are still Miles Harlow’s wife," Roman explained, looking up at me. "Until Marco sees that you are under my personal protection, he will treat you as open season."
"Then let me go down there with the police—"
"The police won't stop Marco," Roman interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. "He owns half the precinct. If you go there alone, you will vanish into a basement far worse than the one you were in last night."
I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. "So what do I do? Sit here while they destroy everything I built for eight years?"
May you like
Roman stood up, smoothing his tailored suit jacket.
"No," Roman said, stepping toward me with terrifying confidence. "We go to the South End. And we teach Marco Moretti who really owns Boston."
