Chapter 4 - The Midnight Extraction
The sound of sirens in the distance broke the tense silence of the study. Not local police—state troopers, their high-pitched wails cutting sharply through the cool night air from the main highway three miles away.
Vance’s eyes widened in genuine panic. “State police? You called them?”
“I didn’t,” Roman said coldly, keeping the gun pinned to Vance’s throat. He looked over his shoulder at Nora. “Did you?”
Nora shook her head, her expression just as surprised. “My phone was fried in the shed. I didn’t call anyone.”
If neither Roman nor Nora had triggered the state police response, someone else had. A sharp knock sounded on the open study door. Standing in the doorway was Miller—head of Roman’s private security detail—looking pale, disheveled, and rubbing the back of his neck where a massive bruise marked the site of a sedative injection. Behind him stood two armed tactical operatives in unmarked matte-black gear.
“Boss,” Miller rasped, coughing as he stepped into the room. “We cleared the garage. Someone slipped pharmaceutical-grade Valium into the shift coffee maker. We woke up when the auxiliary power kicked on after the shed fire tripped the main breaker.”
Roman lowered the gun fractionally, keeping his eyes locked on Vance. “Who called the state troopers, Miller?”
“I did, sir,” a cool, calm voice answered from the hallway.
A woman in a sharp trench coat stepped into the light of the study. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her eyes scanned the room with professional detachment. Margaret Vance—Victor’s older sister and the senior compliance officer for DeLuca Enterprises.
Victor stared at his sister, his face draining of all color. “Margaret? What are you doing here? You were supposed to be in Zurich.”
“I was,” Margaret said, stepping past her brother and looking down at the scattered transfer papers on the desk. “And while I was there, I noticed an unauthorized multi-million-dollar liquidity drain originating from your personal account, Victor. Naturally, I decided to take an earlier flight back to check the books.”
She stopped in front of Roman, giving him a brief, respectful nod. “I apologize for my brother’s lack of imagination, Mr. DeLuca. Family is always the hardest liability to manage.”
Roman straightened up, finally releasing Vance’s collar. Vance stumbled backward, panting and coughing against the mahogany desk, realizing in an instant that his coup had completely imploded.
“Miller,” Roman said quietly, holstering his weapon. “Take Victor down to the holding cells in the basement. Make sure he’s comfortable. We’ll have a nice long chat with federal prosecutors in the morning.”
“Gladly, boss,” Miller grinned, grabbing Vance by the shoulder with enough force to make the lawyer wince. With a flick of his wrist, Miller slapped heavy steel zip-ties around Vance’s wrists and hauled him out of the room, ignoring his furious protests.
As the heavy oak door clicked shut behind them, the room grew quiet again. Nora let out a long, shaky breath she felt like she’d been holding since she first smelled smoke by the garden shed. She looked down at Maisie, who had finally fallen asleep against her hip, exhausted by the night’s terror.
“You need a medic, Roman,” Nora said, noticing for the first time the deep burns along his forearm and the soot staining his face.
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“It’s nothing,” Roman replied, though he winced slightly as he flexed his shoulder. He walked over to the bay windows, watching the red and blue flashing lights of the state troopers sweep across the manicured lawns. “You saved my life tonight, Nora. And more importantly, you kept your head when everything went sideways.”
“I protect what’s mine,” Nora said simply, adjusting sleeping Maisie in her arms. “And on this estate, that includes anyone under my roof who isn’t trying to burn it down.”
