Chapter 2 – The Gun in the Garage
The dining room plunged into an agonizing silence.
Marco’s been shot.
Isabella let out a horrified gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. Emma’s grip on my arm tightened painfully, her brown eyes wide with terror.
Roman didn’t shout. He didn’t curse. The sudden stillness of his body was far more terrifying than any outburst. He turned to the young guard, his voice entirely stripped of emotion.
“Is Marco alive?”
“Yes, Boss. Hit in the shoulder. The other guards pulled him behind cover, but Steven has them pinned down. He’s threatening to shoot the gas tanks of the cars if anyone advances.”
Roman unbuttoned his suit jacket, reaching behind his back. When his hand reappeared, he was holding a sleek, black handgun. He checked the magazine with a sharp, metallic clack that echoed like a death knell in the quiet room.
“Stay here,” Roman ordered me and Isabella.
“No!” Emma cried, stepping in front of me. “He wants my mom! If she doesn’t go out there, he’ll kill someone else!”
“Your father isn’t killing anyone else tonight,” Roman stated, his eyes locking onto my daughter with absolute authority. “I am going to end this.”
He turned and strode out of the dining room, his long legs eating up the distance down the grand hallway. The young guard scrambled after him.
I stood frozen for exactly two seconds.
“Mom, don’t,” Emma begged, grabbing my hand.
“He’s my husband, Emma,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “He’s doing this because of me. I can’t let Roman’s men die because Steven is throwing a tantrum.”
I pulled my hand free and ran after Roman, my sensible catering shoes slipping slightly on the polished marble floors.
“Laura, stop!” Isabella yelled behind me, but I didn’t listen.
I caught up to Roman just as he reached the heavy steel doors leading to the subterranean garage. He paused, pressing his back against the wall, gesturing for the two guards stationed there to remain silent.
He looked down and saw me standing beside him.
His jaw clenched. “I told you to stay in the dining room.”
“Steven is a coward, Roman,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “If you walk in there with a gun, he’ll panic and pull the trigger. If I walk in there, he’ll try to talk his way out of it.”
“He shot Marco,” Roman said coldly. “He’s past talking.”
“Let me try,” I pleaded. “Please.”
Roman stared at me, his dark eyes analyzing the desperation in mine. He saw that I wasn’t trying to be a hero; I was trying to prevent a massacre in his home.
He gave a sharp, single nod. “I will be two steps behind you. If he raises the weapon toward you, drop to the floor.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
Roman pushed the heavy steel door open slowly.
The garage was massive, lit by harsh fluorescent lights, filled with expensive, polished cars. The smell of gasoline and cordite hung heavy in the air.
Fifty feet away, crouched behind the open door of a silver Mercedes, was Steven. His charcoal suit was ruined, his tie ripped off, his dislocated wrist hanging awkwardly at his side. In his good hand, he held a silver revolver, aiming it wildly toward the entrance.
“Don’t come any closer!” Steven screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria.
I stepped fully into the doorway, raising my hands slowly.
“Steven,” I called out. My voice echoed loudly in the concrete cavern.
Steven flinched, turning the gun toward me. His eyes were wide, panicked, and darting rapidly. He looked like a cornered animal.
“Laura,” he gasped, relief and rage warring on his face. “Tell them to back off! Tell them to let me leave!”
“You shot a man, Steven,” I said, walking slowly down the concrete ramp. Roman moved silently in the shadows behind me, keeping a line of sight on my ex-husband.
“He attacked me!” Steven yelled defensively. “I was defending myself!”
“You broke a man’s shoulder because you got caught stealing from your own daughter,” I retorted, the fear slowly giving way to an exhausted, profound anger. “Put the gun down. You’re making it worse.”
“Worse?” Steven laughed, a manic, breathless sound. “They’re going to burn my office, Laura! That animal ordered his men to destroy my business! I heard him!”
He pointed the revolver directly at my chest.
“Tell him to call it off,” Steven demanded. “Tell Castellano to call off the fire, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot the gas line on this Ferrari and blow us all to hell.”
I stopped walking. I was thirty feet away from him.
“You wouldn’t do that,” I said softly.
“Try me!” Steven shrieked.
“You wouldn’t do it because you’re terrified of dying, Steven,” I said, keeping my voice perfectly level. “You spent twenty-one years making sure you were comfortable while I scrubbed floors. You stole my mother’s house to secure a bond for a contract you couldn’t afford. You’re not a martyr. You’re just a thief who got caught.”
Steven’s face twisted in pure hatred.
“I gave you a good life!” he screamed.
“You gave me an illusion,” I fired back. “And you destroyed your relationship with your daughter to keep it.”
Steven raised the gun higher, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Tell him to call it off, Laura, or I’ll kill you,” he threatened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
Before I could answer, a calm, chilling voice echoed from the shadows behind me.
“You won’t kill her, Steven.”
Roman stepped out from the darkness, stepping smoothly in front of me, shielding my body entirely with his own. He didn’t raise his gun. He let it hang casually by his side.
Steven’s eyes widened in terror as the mafia boss approached him, completely unfazed by the revolver pointed at his chest.
“Stay back!” Steven panicked.
“You won’t shoot me, either,” Roman continued, taking another slow, deliberate step. “Because you know that if you pull that trigger, my men won’t just kill you. They will find every person you have ever loved, every person you have ever done business with, and they will erase them.”
Steven’s hands began to shake violently.
“Drop the gun,” Roman commanded softly.
“I can’t,” Steven sobbed, the reality of his situation finally crushing his delusion. “I’ll go to prison.”
“You’re going to prison anyway,” Roman stated. “The only choice you have left is whether you walk out of this garage, or you are carried out in a bag.”
Steven stared at Roman, his chest heaving. He looked at me, standing safely behind the man who had protected me all night.
With a pathetic whimper, Steven dropped the revolver. It clattered loudly against the concrete floor.
He collapsed against the side of the Mercedes, burying his face in his hands, weeping openly.
Roman didn’t hesitate. He kicked the gun under a nearby car and signaled his men.
Four guards rushed forward, throwing Steven to the ground and zip-tying his hands behind his back.
“Get Marco to the hospital,” Roman ordered another guard. “And call the police. Tell them we had a trespasser escalate to violence.”
I leaned against a concrete pillar, my knees trembling so violently I thought I might fall. The adrenaline crash was brutal.
Roman turned to me. The cold, lethal Don vanished instantly, replaced by a man filled with intense concern. He closed the distance between us, gently grasping my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning my face.
“No,” I breathed, trying to steady my racing heart. “I’m okay. Thank you, Roman.”
He let out a long, heavy breath, resting his forehead against mine for a fraction of a second. The intimacy of the gesture shocked me, but I didn’t pull away. It felt incredibly safe.
“Don’t ever walk in front of a loaded gun again, Laura,” he whispered fiercely.
“He wouldn’t have shot me,” I argued weakly.
“I wasn’t willing to bet your life on it,” Roman replied, pulling back to look at me.
Before we could say another word, the heavy steel door to the garage burst open again.
Isabella and Emma ran down the ramp.
“Mom!” Emma cried, throwing her arms around me.
“I’m okay, baby, I’m okay,” I soothed, holding her tight, kissing the top of her head.
Isabella ran to Roman, hugging him tightly. “Is Marco going to be okay?”
“He’s tough,” Roman assured her, kissing his sister’s cheek. “He’ll be fine.”
The police arrived ten minutes later, swarming the garage. They arrested Steven, loading him into the back of a cruiser. He didn’t look at me or Emma as he was taken away. He looked entirely broken.
Roman spoke quietly with the lead detective, handing over the security footage of Steven shooting Marco unprovoked. The detective nodded respectfully, clearly aware of who he was dealing with, and assured Roman the charges would stick.
As the police cruisers pulled away, taking the nightmare of my past with them, Roman walked back over to where Emma and I were standing in the driveway.
“My driver will take you both home,” Roman offered gently. “You’ve had a long night.”
“Thank you, Mr. Castellano,” Emma said softly, holding my hand tight.
“Roman, please,” he corrected with a small smile.
He looked at me. “Your mother’s house. The fire at Steven’s office will handle the forged deed, but the legal title will be messy for a few months. I’ll have my lawyers expedite the process. The house will be back in your name before Christmas.”
I stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his generosity.
“I don’t know how to repay you,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes again.
Roman stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Have dinner with me,” Roman said quietly.
I blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”
“A real dinner,” Roman clarified, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “Not one you have to serve. Just you and me. Let me properly introduce myself, without the gunfire and the ex-husbands.”
I felt a warm flush creep up my neck. I looked at Emma, who was grinning wildly at me, completely supportive.
“I would like that,” I smiled, my heart fluttering in a way it hadn’t in twenty years.
Roman nodded, satisfied. “I’ll call you.”
He turned and walked back toward the mansion, his broad shoulders cutting a powerful silhouette against the massive oak doors.
Emma squeezed my hand. “He’s amazing, Mom.”
“He’s something else,” I agreed, watching him disappear inside.
The driver pulled a sleek black town car around to the front steps, opening the rear doors for us. I sank into the plush leather seats, pulling Emma close to me, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over my soul.
We were together again. Steven was gone. My mother’s house was coming back to us.
For the first time in years, the future looked bright.
The car rolled smoothly down the long, winding driveway of the Castellano estate, heading toward the main gates.
I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion take over.
But as the car slowed to a halt at the security checkpoint, my phone buzzed violently in my purse.
I pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number on the screen.
I answered it, putting it to my ear. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was distorted, mechanical, and dripping with malice.
“Did you really think burning his office would solve your problems, Laura?” the voice hissed.
My blood ran ice-cold. “Who is this?”
“Steven didn’t forge that deed alone,” the voice continued, ignoring my question. “He had a partner. A partner who now holds the original, notarized copy of your signature.”
I stopped breathing. “What do you want?”
“I want the blue ceramic mug your daughter brought to the dinner tonight,” the voice demanded.
I looked down at Emma, who was resting her head on my shoulder, fast asleep.
“Why do you want a coffee mug?” I asked, panic rising in my throat.
The voice let out a cold, terrifying laugh.
“Because your ex-husband wasn’t just a thief, Laura,” the voice whispered. “He was laundering money for the Castellano’s biggest rivals. And the account numbers to ten million dollars of stolen cartel money are painted on the bottom of that mug.”
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