Chapter 3 - The Price of a Bruise
The silence was suffocating.
Chloe, the blonde on Trevor’s arm, suddenly took three hasty steps away from him, letting go of his sleeve as if he had just burst into flames. "Trevor... what did you do?"
Trevor couldn't speak. The air seemed too thick to pull into his lungs. He stared at Sadi, his mind violently rejecting the reality in front of him. *His wife?* Sadi? The girl who used to count nickels to buy store-brand spaghetti? Married to a man who commanded the absolute obedience of the galleria's management?
"I—it was an accident!" Trevor sputtered, his voice jumping an octave as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "She stopped abruptly! We collided! I was wearing hard-soled dress shoes, I swear to God! It was a total accident!"
"A collision," Roman mused softly.
At that moment, Marcus, the boutique manager, scurried back over, turning a high-resolution iPad toward Roman. "Here it is, sir."
Roman glanced down at the screen.
The 4K camera angle was unobstructed. The footage played in crystal-clear definition: Sadi standing quietly by the display case, minding her own business. Trevor walking up from behind. Trevor deliberately cocking his right leg back and viciously kicking her calf, causing her to crash violently into the glass and collapse to the floor. Trevor's smug, satisfied smirk as she hit the ground.
Roman watched the loop twice. He didn't make a sound. He didn't curse. He simply handed the tablet back to Marcus.
"An accident," Roman said.
Trevor took another step back. "Listen, man, you don't understand our history! She’s my ex! She was a toxic, manipulative leech who ruined years of my life! She probably recognized me and blocked my way on purpose to provoke me! Ask anyone at my firm—I'm an honest man! I’m Trevor Sterling-Hayes! Well, an associate at the firm, but my father is—"
"I don't care who your father is," Roman interrupted. The words were flat, dead, devoid of all inflection. "And you will not use that mouth to speak her name ever again."
"Do you know who you’re threatening?!" Trevor shrieked, cornered animals always resorting to their teeth. "You think you can bully me in broad daylight? In a public mall? Call the police! Chloe, call the police right now!"
Chloe didn't reach for her phone. She looked at Roman’s face, recognized the sheer, absolute abyss in his eyes, and whispered, "I don't know him. I barely know him." She backed out through the store doors and literally ran down the concourse.
"Chloe!" Trevor yelled, terrified.
"Security won't come, Trevor," Sadi spoke up. Her voice cut through the chaos like a knife through silk.
Trevor snapped his gaze to her, his chest heaving. "Sadi! Tell him! Tell this lunatic to back off! We have history! You loved me! You wouldn't let someone hurt me!"
Sadi stared at him. The man who had abandoned her with thousands in debts she didn't owe. The man who had stolen her last emergency funds and left her to be evicted into a freezing November rain. She had wept for six months over this empty shell of a human. She had believed she was worthless because he told her she was.
And now, standing beside a man who moved mountains just so she could sleep peacefully through the night, Sadi felt nothing. No anger. No grief. Only a deep, clean emptiness.
"I loved an illusion," Sadi said quietly. "You kicked a stranger on the ground today because you thought she was powerless to stop you. That's who you've always been."
Roman turned his gaze back to Trevor. "What firm did you say you worked for?"
"Sterling & Hayes," Trevor stammered, clinging to his credentials like a life raft. "We handle major corporate litigation! If you touch a hair on my head, my managing partners will bury you under so many lawsuits you won't see the sun!"
Roman didn't flinch. Instead, the faintest ghost of a smile played on the corner of his lips. It was the most terrifying expression Sadi had ever seen on his face.
"Sterling & Hayes," Roman murmured. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek titanium phone, and pressed a single speed-dial button. He put the phone to his ear.
"Julian," Roman said into the receiver. "The acquisition of the financial district towers. Sterling & Hayes is the lead counsel representing the sellers, correct?"
A brief pause.
"Pull the plug," Roman commanded smoothly. "Audit every single escrow account associated with their junior partnerships. And call Raymond Hayes directly. Tell him that if Trevor is still employed by midnight tonight, the port logistics contracts for his shipping lines will cease to exist. Understood."
Roman ended the call and slipped the phone back into his tailored pocket.
Trevor stood frozen, his eyes wide, blood draining entirely from his cheeks. "Who... who the hell are you?"
Roman took a slow step forward. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from Trevor’s. The smell of Roman’s expensive cologne—smoke, dark leather, and steel—washed over Trevor like a tomb.
"My name is Roman Moretti," he whispered.
Trevor’s knees buckled. A sound like a dying squeak escaped his throat.
*Moretti.*
The name wasn't on billboards. It wasn't in tabloid magazines. But in the city of Riverport, anyone with an ounce of connection to finance, politics, or the underworld knew that one name meant absolute, irrevocable death. Roman Moretti wasn't just wealthy; he was the head of the syndicate that owned the docks, the banks, the courts, and every shadow in between.
May you like
"Take your shoes," Roman whispered softly, "and walk out of this building. Pray that my wife’s leg heals without a scar. Because if it doesn't, Trevor... I will take both of yours."
***
