Chapter 4 - THE MAN VICTOR CALLED UNCLESamuel Romano had been officially dead for twelve years.
That was the first thing Victor told me.
He was Victor’s father’s younger brother.
Smooth.
Educated.
Charming.
The kind of man who remembered birthdays, sent expensive Christmas gifts, and made children believe he was the fun uncle.
Then a boat exploded on Lake Michigan.
Samuel’s body was never recovered.
The family assumed the blast destroyed it.
Apparently, the Romanos had a disturbing history of believing people were dead without finding bodies.
Now Samuel stood behind my brother on a live video feed.
Alive.
Older.
Thinner.
But very real.
“Why?” Victor asked his mother.
Elena did not answer.
He turned on her.
“You knew this was possible.”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected my uncle survived?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked toward the screen.
“That he was the traitor.”
Victor’s expression became lethal.
“You let me mourn him.”
“I had no proof.”
“My father?”
“He believed Samuel was innocent until the day he died.”
“And you?”
“I knew him better.”
I could barely listen.
Daniel sat tied to a chair somewhere inside the warehouse where our parents had supposedly died.
His head hung forward.
One eye was swelling shut.
Nothing else mattered.
“I’m going.”
Victor immediately said, “No.”
I looked at him.
“Stop saying that.”
“You heard the instructions.”
“Exactly.”
“He wants you alone.”
“Then I go alone.”
“You were shot four days ago.”
“And Daniel spent half his life protecting me.”
I moved toward the stairs.
Victor caught my wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“To change.”
“You are not walking into a trap.”
I turned.
“If Leo were tied to that chair, would anyone stop you?”
His grip loosened.
The answer was written across his face.
“No,” I said quietly. “They wouldn’t.”
Victor stared at me.
Something passed between us.
Understanding.
Terrible, painful understanding.
Then he released me.
“You won’t be alone.”
“That gets Daniel killed.”
“Only if Samuel knows.”
For the next six hours, the Romano estate became a war room.
Adrian coordinated surveillance maps.
Elena searched through old records.
Victor personally checked every weapon.
And I learned how much violence could hide beneath polished floors and expensive chandeliers.
At seven that evening, Daniel’s doctor arrived to examine my injuries.
“You cannot do this,” she said.
“I can.”
“You have three healing gunshot wounds.”
“I noticed.”
“You could reopen internal bleeding.”
“Then tape me tighter.”
She stared at me.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Eventually, she wrapped my torso in an additional compression bandage and made me promise to return immediately if I felt dizziness, sudden abdominal pain, or shortness of breath.
I lied.
I promised.
By nine, Victor entered my room carrying clothes.
Black jeans.
A dark sweater.
Flat boots.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“You went shopping?”
“My assistant did.”
“You have an assistant for emergency hostage clothes?”
“I have assistants for everything.”
I almost smiled.
Then I saw the holster in his hand.
“No.”
“You need protection.”
“I’ve never fired a gun.”
“You won’t unless necessary.”
“Comforting.”
He placed it on the table.
“Samuel knows you are inexperienced. That can be useful.”
“You say things that should never sound reassuring.”
Victor stepped closer.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “If anything goes wrong, get on the floor.”
“That advice didn’t work very well last time.”
His jaw flexed.
“I remember.”
“So do I.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my shoulder.
Then he surprised me.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Run toward Leo.”
I frowned.
“He was a child.”
“There were bullets.”
“He was still a child.”
“You could have died.”
“So could he.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is to me.”
Victor looked away.
“When my wife died, Leo stopped speaking for three months.”
I had never heard him talk about her.
“Her name was Sofia.”
“I know.”
“He was in the car behind hers.”
My stomach tightened.
“He saw the explosion?”
“Yes.”
Victor’s voice became distant.
“I reached his vehicle before the second car caught fire. He was sitting in his booster seat staring through the windshield.”
I said nothing.
“He never cried. Not once. I thought that was strength.”
“It wasn’t.”
Victor looked at me.
“No.”
“He was in shock.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“I spent my entire life teaching myself never to show fear. Then I taught my son the same thing.”
“You were trying to protect him.”
“I was teaching him to become me.”
“Victor.”
He met my eyes.
“I don’t want him to become me.”
It was the most honest thing he had ever said.
My anger softened.
“Then let him be six.”
“He smiles around you.”
“He smiles around butterscotch.”
“He trusts you.”
“That matters more.”
“Yes.”
The silence changed.
He reached into his pocket.
The sapphire ring.
I exhaled.
“Seriously?”
“Before we go.”
“I am not getting engaged before a hostage exchange.”
“I am not asking for romance.”
“You’re not asking at all.”
“That is becoming a recurring complaint.”
I folded my arms.
“Why now?”
“Because if Samuel sees it, he will believe you accepted.”
“And?”
“He will assume you know Romano secrets.”
“Making me more valuable alive.”
“Yes.”
I hated how logical that was.
I held out my hand.
“Fine.”
Victor slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then at me.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“If Samuel gives you a choice between your brother and yourself—”
“Don’t.”
“You choose yourself.”
“No.”
“Promise me.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“I will not watch you die.”
“Then don’t.”
I walked past him.
At eleven forty-five, a black sedan dropped me three blocks from the warehouse.
Samuel’s instructions were specific.
No Victor.
No escorts.
No visible weapons.
The warehouse stood abandoned beside the river.
Half the windows were broken.
Rust covered the old loading doors.
Nineteen years earlier, my parents had staged their deaths here.
Now I was walking into the same building to rescue my brother.
The universe had a cruel sense of humor.
Victor’s voice came through the tiny transmitter hidden beneath my hair.
“Can you hear me?”
I whispered, “Yes.”
“Do not whisper once you enter.”
“I know.”
“We are two blocks away.”
“Samuel said—”
“He won’t see us.”
“You hope.”
“I rarely hope.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then the warehouse door opened by itself.
I stepped inside.
Darkness swallowed me.
The door slammed behind me.
Floodlights snapped on.
Daniel sat at the center of the warehouse.
Still tied.
Still alive.
“Claire!”
Relief hit so hard my knees weakened.
I ran toward him.
“Stop.”
Samuel’s voice echoed through the warehouse.
I froze.
He emerged from the shadows wearing a dark coat.
Up close, I could see the resemblance to Victor.
Same pale eyes.
Same sharp cheekbones.
But Samuel smiled too easily.
“So.”
His gaze dropped to my ring.
“It’s true.”
“Let my brother go.”
“You really are Thomas Bennett’s daughter.”
“Let him go.”
Samuel chuckled.
“Your father had the same habit. Always skipping conversation.”
Daniel pulled against the restraints.
“Don’t listen to him.”
A man behind Daniel struck him.
“Stop!”
Samuel raised a hand.
The guard stepped back.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
“Victor Romano allowed that?”
“He doesn’t control me.”
Samuel laughed.
“Oh, Claire.”
He came closer.
“You are wearing his grandmother’s ring.”
I said nothing.
“Do you know how many women have worn that?”
“No.”
“Six.”
“Congratulations.”
“Four died violently.”
“That feels more relevant.”
His smile widened.
“I like you.”
“I don’t care.”
“No. You’re like Thomas.”
My chest tightened.
“My father is dead.”
Samuel tilted his head.
“Is he?”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
His smile vanished.
“That got your attention.”
“Where is my father?”
“Closer than you think.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Claire, he’s lying.”
“Am I?”
Samuel removed a photograph from his coat.
He tossed it onto the concrete.
I stared down.
The picture showed a man entering a train station.
Gray hair.
Older.
Thin.
But I recognized the shape of his face.
The way he carried his left shoulder slightly lower.
My father.
Alive.
The date in the corner was six weeks ago.
I could not move.
“Where?”
Samuel watched me carefully.
“Your father stole something from me nineteen years ago.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“What kind?”
“One that proves who really built the Northern Syndicate.”
“You?”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“People far more powerful than the Romanos.”
A sound crackled inside my hidden earpiece.
Victor.
“Do not react.”
I forced my face still.
Samuel continued.
“Your father discovered that certain shipments moving through Romano Freight were protected by people in government.”
“Police?”
“Higher.”
“Who?”
“That is what Thomas recorded.”
“Why do you care now?”
“Because he recently came back.”
“To Chicago?”
Samuel smiled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For you.”
My heartbeat stopped.
Samuel stepped closer.
“He found out you were working for Victor.”
“That wasn’t my choice.”
“I know.”
That chilled me.
“You arranged it.”
“I encouraged it.”
“Why?”
“To flush Thomas out.”
Everything clicked.
The forged assignment.
My father’s old connection to the Romanos.
The shooter carrying my badge.
“You used me as bait.”
“Yes.”
Rage rose through me.
“And the attack?”
“A little louder than intended.”
“You tried to kill Leo.”
“No.”
“You fired into a room with him inside!”
Samuel’s smile disappeared.
“Those men were instructed to miss the boy.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Bullets don’t follow instructions.”
“No. Which is why three shooters are now dead.”
“Victor killed them?”
“Not Victor.”
The implication hung in the air.
Someone else.
“Who?”
Samuel looked toward the rafters.
“That is the fascinating part.”
Suddenly the warehouse lights went out.
Gunfire erupted.
I dropped instantly.
Victor’s voice exploded in my ear.
“DOWN!”
Daniel shouted.
Men screamed.
Bullets struck metal beams.
I crawled toward my brother.
A figure grabbed me.
I swung wildly.
“Claire!”
Victor.
His hand covered the back of my head as he pulled me behind a concrete pillar.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“I do not make deals with men who threaten you.”
A blast shook the building.
Daniel screamed my name.
I pushed away from Victor.
“My brother!”
Adrian appeared from the smoke.
“I’ve got him!”
He dragged Daniel behind cover.
Relief lasted exactly two seconds.
Then Samuel’s voice boomed through a speaker.
“You should have stayed home, nephew.”
Victor lifted his gun.
“Come say that to my face.”
Samuel laughed.
Then another voice came through the darkness.
A voice that made every hair on my body rise.
“Victor Romano.”
Victor froze.
Elena, listening remotely through communications, gasped.
The voice continued.
“I told your father years ago that his family would destroy itself.”
Victor whispered one word.
“Father?”
My head snapped toward him.
Victor’s father had been dead for eight years.
A man stepped into the emergency lighting near the far wall.
Silver hair.
Tall.
An old scar across his cheek.
Victor lowered his weapon by an inch.
“No.”
The man smiled.
“Hello, son.”
Victor Romano had spent his entire life believing his father was buried beneath a stone mausoleum outside Chicago.
But Giovanni Romano was standing fifty feet away.
May you like
Alive.
And holding a gun pointed directly at Samuel.
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