“Roman Giorlando,” she replied. “I’ve heard a lot.”
He took her hand. They shook like people who knew the weight in their own grip and in the other’s.
“You kept your girls ready to ride tonight. You rode all the way down here. You didn’t hesitate when it mattered. I appreciate that.”
“Figured it was time you saw the shore come together,” she said.
He huffed. “You exude leadership,” he said. “My wife will like you, I think. She has the same look when she’s about to decide whether a person is worth pouringanother glass of wine for. I hope this isn’t the last time we stand on the same side.”
Liberty lifted one shoulder. “If I ever need to knock on your door, I know where to knock,” she said. “For now, it stays closed but not locked.”
Roman smiled big for real that time.
“A fair answer,” he said.
The wind gusted. Somewhere down the beach a gull cried at nothing.
Roman looked over his shoulder at the SUV that held his Russian.
The softness vanished like someone had shut a door behind his eyes.
He nodded once.
Two suits peeled away from the shadow of the vehicle. They opened the back door and hauled Vladimir out by his arms.
He made a sound that was half-groan, half-snarl. His leg buckled. They didn’t care. They dragged him through the sand, making sure to jostle every injury on the way over.
By the time they dumped him on his knees in front of Roman, his breath was coming in ragged bursts. Sweat had turned his beard into something matted and ugly. His eyes, though, were still sharp.
He looked us over.
Devils. Vipers. Roman.
He smirked.
Roman stepped in untilhe was close enough to touch him.
For a second, he didn’t.
Then his hand shot out.
The slap cracked across Vlad’s face, loud even over the waves. His head snapped to the side.
Roman pivoted and backhanded him the other way.
If the suits behind him hadn’t been holding him steady, he’d have gone to the ground.
Roman adjusted his cuffs like he’d just swatted a fly and turned his back on him, walking a few paces toward the waterline.
We all watched.
He stared out at the dark horizon. The moon threw a path across the surface, a broken silver line that stretched from the shore to nothing.
“When I was young,” Roman said, voice quiet but carrying, “I watched my father build something out of nothing. Brick by brick. Deal by deal. He taught me that family is everything. That without trust, money is just paper and power is just a fool’s costume. You understand this, yes?” He didn’t turn. “You all live by some version of that in your own little kingdoms.”
We knew he was talking to us.
Nobody argued.
