Chapter 6 - The Broken Pieces
The firefight lasted less than three minutes. Roman’s security team was too well-trained, their positioning too tactical for the attackers. The remaining gunmen fled in one of the vans, leaving three bodies behind on the blood-stained concrete, alongside the lifeless form of Dr. Silas Vance.
Roman stood up, his suit jacket torn, his face splattered with plaster dust, but he was completely unharmed. He immediately reached down, lifting Pamela to her feet with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence around them.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his hands checking her arms, her shoulders, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of trauma.
"I'm fine," Pamela gasped, her breath ragged as she handed him back the pistol. She looked at Dr. Vance’s body. "He’s dead. The records... the names... we lost them."
"We didn't lose anything," Roman said coldly, gesturing to Marco. "Check their phones. Search their pockets. If they belong to the Falcone family, they just signed their own death warrants. Nobody brings a war to my doorstep, and nobody touches the mother of my children."
They returned to the Lake Forest estate under a heavy guard convoy. By the time they arrived, it was nearly 3:00 a.m. The adrenaline that had carried Pamela through the night began to fade, leaving her with a crushing, bone-deep exhaustion. Her knees shook as she walked up the stairs, her body aching from the violent impact with the warehouse floor.
Roman led her into a luxurious guest suite down the hall from the nursery. He had already ordered the maids to lay out comfortable silk pajamas and a warm robe.
"Rest, Pamela," Roman said, standing in the doorway. "You’ve been through hell tonight. My men are guarding every inch of this property. You and the babies are safe here."
Pamela sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, looking down at her stained apron. With trembling fingers, she finally untied the knots, letting the black fabric drop to the floor. She felt exposed, stripped of her armor, the raw wounds of her fourteen-month grief suddenly wide open.
"Mr. Costello," she whispered, looking up at him, her hazel eyes glistening in the firelight. "What happens now? When the Falcones are taken care of... what happens to me? To my babies? Are you going to take them away from me again?"
Roman walked into the room, his long strides slow and deliberate. He stopped a few feet from her, sinking down to one knee so he was looking up at her, matching the posture she had taken with his children earlier that night.
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"I spent a year watching those children waste away in silence, Pamela," Roman said, his voice deep, raw, and completely sincere. "I am a powerful man, but I could not give them what they needed. Tonight, I saw them live for the first time. I am their father, and I will protect them with my life—but you are their mother. I will never separate you from them again. We are going to fight this war together, and when it’s over, we will build a real family for them. You have my word."
Pamela looked into his eyes and saw no deceit, no corporate calculation—only the fierce, unyielding devotion of a protector. For the first time in fourteen months, she let out a breath that didn't feel heavy. She nodded softly. "Together."
