Chapter 4 - A Lawyer in the SnowJulian Cross walked slowly toward the center of the cabin, his polished leather shoes leaving muddy, melting tracks across Mara’s clean floorboards. He didn't look at the bed with fear or even professional hesitation; he looked at Roman the way an accountant looks at an unbalanced ledger that’s finally ready to be written off.
"You're late, Julian," Roman said, his voice entirely devoid of panic. He forced his body to remain completely still, masking the helpless dead weight of his legs beneath the wool blanket. "Vance is getting sloppy. Sending a lawyer to do a butcher's job?"
Julian chuckled, a dry, papery sound. "Dominic is busy consolidating the port authorities. The Governor’s office is making noises about the dock fire, and we need to sign over the holding company shares before the federal grand jury subpoenas the primary ledger."
He stopped three feet from the bed, pulling a manila folder from under his arm.
"Sign the transfer documents, Roman, and we’ll make it quick," Julian said, his voice dropping its polite veneer, turning sharp and thin like a scalpel. "A heavy dose of morphine, a quiet night in the woods, and the coroner rules it accidental hypothermia. No fuss. No trial. Your legacy remains intact—at least on paper."
Roman looked at the folder. Then he looked up at Julian, letting a slow, dangerous smile touch the corners of his scarred mouth.
"And if I don't sign?"
Julian sighed, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "Then Dominic sends three more men. They burn this little shack to ash. They find the woman who lives here—what’s her name, Mara? Local diner waitress, struggling with mortgage payments—and they make her final hours very unpleasant before they throw her in the river with you."
At the sound of Mara’s name, Bear didn't growl.
He moved.
It wasn't a sudden, frantic lunge. It was the calculated, hydraulic explosion of a hundred and forty pounds of muscle and raw fury.
Julian didn't even have time to raise his hands. Bear hit him square in the chest with the force of a falling beam, sending the lawyer crashing backward into the wooden table. The kerosene lamp shattered, spilling burning oil across the floorboards as the table splintered into kindling.
"Get it off me! Shoot it! Shoot!" Julian shrieked, thrashing wildly as Bear’s massive jaws clamped onto the sleeve of his expensive coat, pinning his arm to the floor.
Two men in black tactical gear burst through the shattered front door, automatic rifles raised.
"Hold your fire! You'll hit Mr. Cross!" one of them shouted, rushing forward.
Roman didn't hesitate. With every ounce of upper-body strength he possessed, he grabbed the heavy iron and brass fire log from the hearth beside the bed and hurled it across the room with lethal precision. It caught the lead gunman directly across the windpipe with a sickening crack, dropping him instantly.
The second gunman whipped his rifle around toward the bed—
Bang.
A single, deafening gunshot echoed through the cabin. But it didn't come from the gunman’s rifle.
The front door, already hanging by a single hinge, blew completely inward. Mara stood in the frame, smoke curling from the barrel of an antique double-barrel 10-gauge shotgun, her face locked in an expression of cold, absolute fury.
The second gunman dropped his rifle, clutching his shoulder as blood spurted between his fingers, before collapsing into the snow in the doorway.
Julian Cross, pinned beneath Bear’s massive paw, his face pressed against the charred floorboards, looked up at Roman with eyes wide with sheer terror.
"You... you're insane," Julian choked out.
May you like
Roman pulled himself up slightly on his elbows, looking down at the man who had sold him out for a percentage of his own empire.
"You should have checked the logs, Julian," Roman whispered. "In Albany, lawyers don't carry guns. But out here in the woods? Everyone’s got a shotgun."
