Chapter 10 - The River’s Edge
Arthur whimpered, his face pressed flat against the dust and shattered plaster, staring down into the dark drop of the elevator shaft where the city lights flickered far below.
“You wanted my empire, Arthur,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You wanted my children shipped off to Vermont, and you wanted my name wiped off the ledgers.”
“I’m sorry... I’m sorry, Roman,” Arthur choked out, tears mixing with the blood and grime on his cheeks. “Patrick made me... he had my debts—”
“Patrick can have you,” I interrupted.
Before Arthur could scream, I reached down, grabbed him by the belt and the collar, and hoisted him up with a single fluid motion, swinging his legs right over the lip of the open elevator shaft.
“No! No, Roman, please—!”
I let go.
His terrified shriek echoed down the empty concrete shaft for a long, agonizing second before ending in a dull, distant thud far below.
The two surviving mercenaries stood frozen against the wall, their chests heaving with heavy, panicked breaths as they looked from the empty elevator drop back up to me.
I turned slowly to face them, the M4 carbine still warm and smoking in my hands.
“Tell Patrick Sloane that his package has arrived,” I said coldly. “And tell him that the next time he sends his men into my penthouse, he better come with them himself.”
Without a word, the two mercenaries grabbed their unconscious comrade and scrambled backward into the ruined freight lift, punching the basement override button as fast as their trembling fingers could move.
The freight car’s doors slammed shut, dropping them away into the depths of the building.
Silence settled back over the penthouse, broken only by the whistling wind rushing through the blown-out security doors.
I dropped the rifle, walked down the dark hallway toward the master walk-in closet, and pulled open the heavy steel panel of the panic bunker.
Naomi, Jack, and Rosie were sitting safely inside on the emergency bench. Jack looked up, his young face solemn and brave, while Rosie buried her face safely against Naomi’s shoulder.
Naomi looked at me, her eyes steady, her chest rising and falling with relief.
“Is it over?” she whispered.
May you like
I looked back down the long, dark corridor toward the shattered foyer, knowing that Patrick Sloane was out there in the dark, watching his empire slip through his fingers.
“No,” I said quietly, offering Naomi my hand to help her out of the bunker. “It’s only just beginning.”
