Chapter 31 - The Russian Threat"Rostov," Roman growled, the name tasting like rusted iron on his tongue. "I left him bleeding out in a warehouse in Gary, Indiana, five years ago. How is he breathing?" Some men, Roman realized with bitter clarity, were like cockroaches; no matter how many times you stepped on them, they crawled back out of the woodwork.
"He didn't just survive, Roman," Celeste analyzed quickly, her fingers moving again to trace the financial trails. "He picked up the pieces of the Russian Bratva after the Chicago Outfit collapsed. He's been rebuilding his syndicate through cyber-extortion, maritime smuggling, and hostile corporate takeovers across the Northeast."
"And he wants revenge," Roman concluded grimly. "Not just on the feds. On us."
"He knows you're in Maine," Celeste said, her voice dropping into a steely register. "And he knows about the bookstore. He's using the Atlas Group to squeeze this town until we have no choice but to crawl back into the dark."
Roman stood up from his chair, walking over to the window to stare out at the dark, crashing waves of the Atlantic. The peaceful illusion of their coastal exile had been shattered. But unlike three years ago, when he was running from his own sins, he wasn't afraid.
He felt a cold, calculated clarity wash over him.
"He wants to play chess," Roman said, turning back to his wife with a lethal, steady gaze. "Let's give him a grandmaster."
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Celeste looked up from the screen, a matching fire burning in her dark eyes. "What's your play?"
"We don't wait for him to make the first move," Roman said, resting his hands firmly on the desk. "You crack his firewall from here. Locate his primary server farm in Boston. Meanwhile, I'm calling Arthur Sterling. Tell him the Vascari consulting firm is back in business—and we want total, unmitigated authorization to burn Rostov's entire empire to ash."
