Chapter 6 - The Trap Shuts Tight
The rain came down in blinding sheets as Grant sprinted through the mud, slipping and scrambling toward the industrial drainage canal that connected the rail yard to the Chicago River. He clutched his side, gasping for air, the terrified realization pounding in his temples that Roman had never for a single second believed his lies.
He wrenched open the driver's door of the van, only to feel a freezing, iron grip clamp around the back of his neck like a hydraulic vice.
Roman slammed Grant face-first into the rusted metal paneling of the van. The impact cracked Grant’s nose, sending a spray of crimson across the white paint.
“Roman! Please!” Grant wheezed, his hands clawing at Roman’s forearm. “We grew up on the same block! I took a bullet for you in Detroit ten years ago!”
Roman pinned him against the vehicle, leaning in until his breath was hot against Grant’s ear. “And I gave you half of my kingdom in return. But you let them kill Noah. You let a foreign butcher run down my little brother on an open highway, and then you dared to breathe the same air as my pregnant wife.”
Roman spun Grant around and threw him onto the wet gravel. Grant groaned, rolling onto his back, spitting blood into the sleet. Marcus Vance and three tactical officers surrounded them instantly, their rifles pointed at Grant’s head.
“Secure the perimeter,” Roman ordered without looking away from Grant. “Round up the survivors. Call the coroner’s private van for Anton Rostov. Make sure the city cleanup teams know this was an internal logistics explosion.”
“Understood, boss,” Vance said, gesturing for his men to secure the other prisoners.
Roman leaned down, pressing the cold barrel of his .45 against the center of Grant Mercer’s forehead.
“Where is Vladimir Rostov?” Roman asked quietly.
Grant began to weep, the rain washing the blood down his trembling chin. “He’s not in Canada, Roman. He’s here. He arrived in Chicago yesterday morning. He wanted to watch you fall in person.”
“Where?”
“He’s at the old grain silo facility on 31st Street,” Grant sobbed. “He has twelve men with him. They’re monitoring the police scanners. If I don't check in within fifteen minutes, they’re going to execute the secondary plan.”
Roman’s finger tightened on the trigger. “What secondary plan?”
Grant looked up, sheer terror paralyzing his eyes. “They didn't just tail Evelyn to my car today, Roman. They didn't just take pictures. Vladimir bribed one of your perimeter gate technicians three days ago. They placed an explosive charge on the auxiliary power grid of your private estate. If Vladimir doesn't get my confirmation call, he’s going to detonate it and level the north wing of your house.”
May you like
Roman froze. The estate. The north wing.
That was where the master suite was. That was where Evelyn was waiting.
