Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The frozen banks of the Calumet River were desolate and barren at four in the morning. Black water churned slowly beneath thick sheets of jagged ice, disappearing into the dark expanse of Lake Michigan.
A single spotlight illuminated the edge of the wooden pier where Roman Mercer stood, his long wool coat buttoned tightly against the biting wind. Behind him, three heavy steel drums sat on the wooden planks, each filled halfway with wet concrete.
Marcus, Katherine, and Julian were brought forward by Roman’s men. Their gags had been removed, but none of them had the strength left to scream. The sheer weight of their defeat had broken their spirits entirely.
Katherine looked at Roman, her voice cracking with desperate entreaty. "Roman... please. I was your father’s wife. I helped raise you..."
"You hated my mother, and you hated me from the day I was born," Roman said, his voice void of any emotion. "You tolerated me only because my father was alive. And when he died, you started planning my end."
"I was stupid!" she sobbed, falling to her knees on the ice-slicked wood. "I’ll leave Chicago! I’ll go to Europe! I’ll never touch a penny of the family money! Just let me live!"
"You tried to poison a child’s mind, Katherine," Roman said softly, stepping closer to her. "You told Clara she would learn to eat last. You wanted her to starve in the dark."
"I didn't mean it—"
"You did," Roman interrupted. "You meant every word."
He looked at Viktor and gestured toward the first drum. Viktor and another soldier picked up Katherine by her arms and legs, lifting her up. She shrieked, kicking wildly, but her strength was nothing against the heavy arms of the soldiers. They placed her feet into the heavy wet concrete of the first drum.
"Roman! No! Please!" she screamed, her voice echoing across the dark river.
Roman turned his eyes to Marcus. "You were my cousin. I trusted you with my life and my daughter’s security. I paid you millions, gave you territory, gave you respect. And you sold me out for a promotion from Moretti."
Marcus didn't offer excuses. He looked down at the dark water, his jaw tight. "Just make it quick, Roman."
"Quick is for honorable enemies," Roman replied flatly. "You get the river."
Marcus was lifted into the second drum.
Finally, Roman looked down at his younger half-brother, Julian. Julian was curled up in a ball on the pier, weeping openly, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Julian," Roman said softly.
"Roman... brother... please..." Julian gasped, grabbing Roman’s leather boot. "Don't do this... I’m your blood..."
"Blood doesn't mean anything when you sell it to a stranger," Roman said, stepping back from his grasp. "You brought a wolf into our house, Julian. You thought you could be a king, but you were just a tool."
"I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" Julian wailed.
"I know you are," Roman said. "You're sorry you failed."
Roman gave the final nod.
The three drums were pushed off the edge of the wooden pier simultaneously. The heavy splashes echoed loudly through the dark night, followed by the cold, rushing sound of the Calumet River swallowing everything whole. Within seconds, the surface of the water smoothed out, leaving only ripples under the pale moonlight.
Roman stood at the edge of the pier for a long moment, watching the dark water churn. The cold air burned his lungs, but for the first time in months, he felt a profound, heavy clarity. The threats within his house had been completely eradicated.
"Boss," Viktor spoke up quietly, stepping beside him with a warm wool blanket. "It’s over. The house is clean."
Roman took a deep breath, turning his back on the river. "Not yet. We still have to rebuild."
"Where to now, Don Mercer?"
May you like
Roman looked at his watch. It was 5:30 AM. Dawn was beginning to break over the eastern horizon, painting the snow-covered sky in faint shades of pink and orange.
"Home," Roman said simply. "My daughter will be waking up soon."
