Page 4 of Fractured Loyalties

Four

ROMAN

I’m sure Ivy is locked away, crying her little heart out in her bedroom over a bad first day of school. I do want to feel bad for her. But… She has no idea that crying over spilled milk on her skirt is the least of her worries in this place.

And the least of mine, too.

I stalk the corridor, my shoes echoing against the tiles, until I reach the double doors to my father’s study.

Fuck me.

I pull the handle and step right into hell.

“Sit, Roman.” He doesn’t even look up from his massive mahogany desk as I enter.

I don’t bother with any pleasantries either.

I drop into the chair opposite him and let my spine curl.

For a moment, I amuse myself imagining what my therapist would say about my posture.

She’d probably say it’s a defense mechanism, the way I make myself appear smaller when I’m in my father’s presence.

Or maybe she’d say I want him to see me as a threat. But honestly… that would require him to see me at all. I’m the most disappointing of all my siblings—and most of them are dead.

Finally, he raises his gaze, his dark eyes taking me in, and raps a knuckle on the folder in front of him. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because it’s too late for you to hit the golf simulator and too early for Irena to tolerate your company,” I guess, not bothering to hide my sneer. “Or wait… Is this another team-building exercise that I’m supposed to have with Kade, your new surrogate son?”

His face doesn’t move, but I see a muscle jump in his jaw. “Roman, spare me the performance.”

I cock my head to the side. “Can it truly be a performance if no one’s watching?”

He ignores me. “We have a situation with Keller.”

The name slides across the desk like a shard of glass. Vincent Keller is a top donor to Woods Private Endowment, and a minor-league mobster with a predilection for silk shirts and cruelty. His money keeps a dozen programs afloat, and we need him. Well, my father needs him.

I couldn’t care less.

“What did you do?” I ask because the unspoken assumption in this house is that all problems are self-inflicted.

“I promised Keller an adjustment to his arrangement. He wants to collect in person. It’s simple. I need you to take care of it.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you sending me ? Why not Kade?”

“You’ve met him before. He trusts you. You’re an extension of me. Kade is still… learning. ”

I glance at the folder, wondering if it contains a script, the payoff, or just a few untraceable bills in unmarked envelopes.

“He’ll be at the warehouse on Grafton,” he continues when I don’t say anything. “Eleven p.m. sharp. Do not fuck this up.”

He pushes the folder towards me, and I take it. Then, I stand, shoving the chair back. “You know he’s unstable, right? I’ve heard he?—”

“He’s useful,” my father counters, cutting me off. He’s typing something now, probably a calendar invitation to serve as his own fucking alibi.

“And,” he pauses, looking up, “You’re expendable. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Ah, there’s the answer.

I don’t bother with a retort for that one. I just walk out with the folder he wants me to take, letting the door shut softly behind me. There’s fresh rage under my ribs, and it pulses with every step I take down the corridor. My old man hates me and never holds back.

I guess that’s where I get my issues from. Lucky me.

I make my way to the garage quickly, grabbing the keys for the black Range Rover along the way. I slip inside and back the car out, leaving the Woods Estate to rot in my rearview. However, as I get to the gate, it crosses my mind that I’ve left Ivy behind to fend for herself…

For some reason, that bothers me. But only for a second.

I gun the engine through the outer suburbs, trading one blacked-out subdivision for the next until the glass palaces give way to chain-link and sodium vapor.

The city’s industrial district sprawls like an infected wound.

I keep the windows up to avoid the nasty, polluted air and then make the turn into the warehouse parking lot.

I check the clock— 10:47 p.m.

I’m early, but not so early that it looks desperate. I roll my shoulders, feeling the sweat pool beneath my collar.

This will be fine.

I park outside the gate, take a breath, and let my fingers drum the wheel—every joint aches with anticipation. I keep hoping for a call that will get me out of this, but my phone is silent and so is the world outside.

I lift the envelope, climb out, and walk through the gate.

The concrete is slimy, splattered with oil and maybe blood—it’s hard to tell in the dark.

My feet echo with every step, and my eyes dart around, scanning for movement even when I know there’s nothing but shadows and the ghosts of junkies, who froze to death out here last winter.

My hand slides against the lever on the front entrance, and it clicks open. I push it in and then hold my breath as I step through the doors. Something in my gut is reacting in the most repulsive way, and I’m not sure if it’s the bidding I’m doing for my father or something else.

Once inside, a low ceiling hangs above me, and the walls are covered with graffiti and decades of nicotine staining.

Keller is easy to spot under the flickering lights.

He’s posted up at a folding table in the center of the room, a mountain of a man in a suit that looks as if it’s trying to hold him in against his will.

The shirt is purple, the tie paisley, and the whole ensemble is topped off with a gold Rolex so obnoxious, I could laugh.

Bodyguards flank him, one on each side, and although I probably should be unnerved by it, I’m not. I’m just happy they’re not in matching hideous outfits.

Keller waves me over. “Roman Woods, as I live and breathe. You look just like your old man.”

“Bad genes,” I mutter.

“Something like that,” he says. “You got something for me?”

I tap the legal-type, sealed envelope onto the table and slide it across to him with two fingers. “I’m here to deliver, nothing else.”

He laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh you hear in strip clubs when the bouncer drags out a guy for touching the girls. “Your father has always sent a courier before. It’s a step up to see the prodigal son handling his business, though not quite Kade level.”

“Let’s not get biblical,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth as I keep my eyes on his. The table is scratched and sticky, and I don’t want to think about what made it that way. “I’ll see you at the next fundraiser.”

“Nope, you’re not leaving yet, son.” He clears his throat, and I stop my backward retreat.

“I need to count this.” He pops the clasp, dumps the cash onto the surface, and starts counting.

He uses both hands, surprisingly nimble for a guy with sausage fingers.

He gets through two stacks before the amusement slides off his face.

He looks up at me, the smile gone. “It’s fucking light.”

I don’t blink. “I wasn’t the one who loaded it. You’ll have to take that up with my father.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his lips pressed so tightly together they are white. Then he leans back, motioning to his guys.

“What do you think, Mike?” he asks, not taking his eyes off mine.

The goon on the left cracks his knuckles. “I think maybe he left something in the car.”

I keep my tone flat. “I am only the delivery boy. I know nothing.”

The second guy grins, showing off a row of capped teeth. “Sounds as if daddy sent him thinking we wouldn’t count it.”

Keller nods, a humming noise coming from his mouth. “Yeah… He’s right. But that’s the thing about family businesses, Roman. When someone gets shorted, it’s always family that pays.”

They’re moving before I even register any signals. Mike comes around the table and grabs my shoulder, shoving me back. My feet skid on the concrete.

“This isn’t my call. I have no idea what the hell my father does,” I say hurriedly, putting my hands up in defense, but the second guy’s already in my space, his fist cocked. “Take it up with?—”

The punch lands in my gut, just below the ribcage. I double over at the blow, and the guy’s hand is already in my hair, dragging me up so I can take the next hit straight to the cheekbone. My vision pinwheels, the world tilts and shrinks as I stumble backward.

In the blur, I catch sight of the envelope lying on the floor. Keller’s watching, his expression unreadable, but I think he’s enjoying it. I can’t even blame him for it. But there is someone to blame.

The motherfucker who knew he sent me in here light.