Chapter 5 - The Confession in the WoodsThe smoke from the overturned lamp cleared slowly, replaced by the sharp, metallic smell of cordite and burning pine.
Julian Cross was tied securely to a wooden kitchen chair with heavy nylon tow-strap, his expensive wool coat torn, his gold-rimmed glasses lying shattered on the floor near his feet. He was shaking, his professional composure entirely stripped away, revealing the small, terrified coward beneath.
Mara stood by the shattered doorway, reloading the double-barrel shotgun with two fresh red shells, her movements steady and practiced. She looked down at the injured gunman groaning in the snow outside, then back inside at Roman.
"You said they’d send a battalion," Mara said, her voice dangerously quiet. "This was just the vanguard."
"It was a test," Roman corrected, his eyes fixed on Julian. "Vance wanted to see if I was actually dead or just hiding. Now he knows." He turned his gaze to the lawyer. "How many men does Dominic have at the estate right now?"
Julian spat a drop of blood onto the floorboards. "Go to hell, Roman."
Bear let out a low, rumbling growl, taking one slow step toward the chair. Julian flinched, pulling his legs up against the rungs.
"The dog doesn't negotiate, Julian," Roman said smoothly. "And neither do I. Where is my brother's ledger?"
Julian’s eyes flickered—a tiny, micro-expression of absolute panic that didn't escape Roman’s notice.
"Luca's dead," Julian stammered. "You gave the order three years ago. You remember, don't you? The warehouse on the river? You thought he was skimming from the union dues."
"I thought he was," Roman said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight so heavy the room seemed to tilt. "Because you handed me the forged bank statements, Julian. You and Dominic manufactured the wire transfers to make it look like Luca was selling us out to the federal task force."
Julian swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. "I... I was just following orders. Dominic said—"
"Dominic didn't have the brains to forge a parking ticket," Roman interrupted. "He’s a muscle head with a cheap suit. You’re the one who ran the offshore accounts in the Caymans. You’re the one who wanted the entire syndicate for yourself, using Dominic as the blunt instrument to clear the board."
Roman pulled himself forward across the bed, dragging his paralyzed lower body with his arms until he was sitting on the edge, looking down at the lawyer with eyes like frozen flint.
"Where is the original hard drive with the transaction logs?" Roman demanded. "The one that proves Luca was innocent?"
"It’s... it’s in the safe behind the mahogany paneling in the main office at the estate," Julian whispered, the fight completely draining out of him. "The combination is on a slip of paper inside my desk drawer."
Mara walked over, standing beside Roman. She looked at Julian, then at Roman’s legs, and finally out the window toward the gray, endless expanse of the Adirondacks.
"You're planning to go back," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I have to," Roman said. "As long as Dominic and Julian hold my family's name, I'm a ghost waiting for a grave. And until I clear Luca's name, I’m already dead."
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Mara looked down at her hands—hands blistered from dragging a dying mafia boss through a blizzard, hands that had just fired a shotgun to protect a stranger in her home. She sighed, a long, weary sound of a woman who knew she had just crossed a line she could never walk back from.
"Well," Mara said, walking over to the coat rack and picking up her heavy canvas jacket. "If we’re going to take down an entire syndicate in Albany, we’re going to need a better truck."
