Chapter 18 - The True Mastermind
“Calm down, Clara,” the scarred man said smoothly, spinning a silver lighter between his knuckles. “You aren't going to Zurich.”
My heart hammered violently against my ribs. “Who are you? Where is Roman?”
“Roman is busy cleaning up a mess he should have handled years ago,” the man replied, standing up and walking slowly down the aisle toward me. “Did you really think Roman Valente built a multi-billion-dollar global syndicate entirely on his own? Did you think a man like that survives twenty assassination attempts by pure luck?”
He stopped a few feet away, a cold, mocking smile touching his lips.
“Roman didn't just know about Dante’s coup,” the man continued, leaning casually against the mahogany table. “Roman engineered it. He wanted Dante and Elena out of the way so he could consolidate absolute, unchecked power under the Commission’s direct oversight. You and your daughter weren't accidental witnesses, Clara. You were the pawns he used to force the board's hand.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Everything—the asthma attack, Vivian’s setup, the medical form on the floor, the dramatic rescue in the police precinct—it had all been scripted. Roman wasn't the victim; he was the ultimate director of the play.
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“He let us walk away...” I whispered, my voice trembling with horror.
“He let you walk away because loose ends have a habit of getting found,” the man said, pulling a silenced pistol from his coat. “And the easiest way to ensure silence is a plane crash over the Atlantic.”
