Chapter 4 - The Fortress on the Water
The Romano compound sat on a private promontory overlooking the gray, churning waters of New York Harbor.
It was a modern architectural fortress of dark granite, reinforced concrete, and floor-to-ceiling sheets of tinted security glass, surrounded by armed guards patrolling the perimeter with trained guard dogs.
Lorenzo helped me out of the car. The rain had slowed to a steady, cold drizzle that clung to my soaked uniform.
We stepped into a grand two-story atrium with heated slate floors, minimal furniture, and a panoramic view of the distant Manhattan skyline glowing against the clouds.
A woman in a neat navy suit met us at the entrance, holding a leather medical kit and a clean woolen throw.
"Dr. Alverez," Lorenzo said, nodding toward my hand. "Deep laceration on the right palm from crystal glass. Disinfect it, suture if necessary, and administer a preventative tetanus shot."
The doctor guided me to a plush leather sofa near a roaring gas fireplace.
As she cleaned the wound with antiseptic, the burning sting made my eyes water, but I bit my lip and stared into the dancing flames, refusing to cry in front of Lorenzo Romano.
"You're remarkably quiet for a woman who just survived an assassination attempt on the FDR," Lorenzo observed, standing by the mantelpiece with a glass of neat bourbon in his hand.
"I spend twelve hours a day in trauma wards, Mr. Romano," I answered, my voice steady despite the lingering tremor in my hands. "I've seen gunshot wounds, overdoses, and shattered bones. Blood doesn't impress me. And neither do you."
Dr. Alverez paused her stitching, glancing up with a mixture of shock and admiration.
Lorenzo didn't get angry. Instead, a genuine, intriguing gleam of respect flashed in his gray-blue eyes. He took a slow sip of his drink, his lips curving into a slow, appreciative smile.
"Mateo always said his niece had more spine than the entire customs enforcement bureau," Lorenzo remarked quietly.
"You knew my uncle?" I asked, my head snapping up as the doctor finished wrapping my palm in pristine white gauze.
"Mateo saved my brother's life ten years ago when a shipping crane collapsed at the docks," Lorenzo explained, his tone dropping into a solemn, heavy cadence. "He pulled Marco from the wreckage before the fuel tank ignited. In my family, debts of life are sacred, Isabella. They never expire."
He set his empty glass on the mantel and turned toward me with absolute, unyielding authority.
"When Mateo realized Petrov had found out about the audit, he came to this house. He told me that if anything happened to him, I was to protect you with everything under my command."
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My breath hitched. "He came to you?"
"He didn't want you involved," Lorenzo continued. "He wanted you to finish your studies, live a clean, peaceful life far away from our world. But tonight, you heard the name of warehouse seventeen. Petrov saw your eyes. That peaceful life is over until Petrov is in the ground."
