Chapter 5 - The War Room
By 2:00 AM, the lower level of the Vale estate had been transformed into a military command post. Tactical maps of Grayhaven were projected onto glass walls, while lieutenants in tactical armor checked weapons, encrypted radios, and drone surveillance feeds.
Elena refused to stay in bed.
Using a sleek modern wheelchair provided by the medical staff, she wheeled herself into the central war room, holding a sleeping Amelia wrapped in a thick fleece blanket. She refused to let the child out of her sight for even a single minute.
Roman stood at the head of the glass tactical table, surrounded by his top five commanders. He wore black tactical gear under an open leather jacket, a heavy sidearm holstered across his chest.
"Dominic’s broadcast was routed through a relay station near the old industrial docks on the north side," Viktor explained, pointing to a flashing red dot on the map. "Moretti’s private security firm owns three warehouses in that quadrant. It’s a fortress."
"They expect us to defend the estate," Roman stated, his voice calm and cold as steel. "They think I will bunker down here while Dominic prepares a coordinated siege. We are going to hit them before they can assemble their strike teams."
"Roman," Elena called out from her wheelchair near the doorway.
The entire room went quiet. The hardened lieutenants—men who had killed without hesitation—looked at Elena with a mixture of curiosity and deep respect. They all knew she was the mother of the Vale heir.
Roman turned away from the glass map, walking over to stand beside her chair. He knelt down so he was eye-level with her.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," Roman said gently.
"You can't leave this estate, Roman," Elena said, her hands gripping the armrests of her wheelchair. "It’s a trap! Dominic wants you to attack the docks so he can draw your primary security force away from here!"
"I know," Roman said quietly.
Elena blinked, stunned. "You know?"
"Dominic is predictable," Roman explained, reaching out to touch the edge of Amelia’s blanket. "He wants me angry and reckless. He expects me to take thirty of my best men to the docks, leaving the estate vulnerable. That’s why I am going to the docks with only ten men."
"Ten?!" Elena gasped. "That's suicide!"
"It’s a feint," Roman countered, his dark eyes locked onto hers. "Viktor will remain here with forty heavily armed men, embedded inside the security bunkers around the perimeter. The estate will look undefended from the outside, but the moment Dominic’s strike team enters the gates, Viktor will close the kill-box and eliminate them."
"And what about you?" Elena’s voice faltered, an unexpected surge of fear tightening her throat. "What if Dominic isn't at the docks? What if Moretti is waiting for you with heavy weapons?"
Roman reached out, his warm, rough thumb gently tracing the line of Elena’s jaw. The touch was brief, but it sent a shockwave through her entire body—a sharp reminder of the nights they had shared before the darkness took three years of her life.
"I survived twenty years in the underworld of this city, Elena," Roman said softly, his gaze dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. "I didn't survive by dying in a warehouse. I will be back before sunrise. Protect our daughter."
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He stood up, adjusted his sidearm, and looked at Viktor. "Move out."
As the heavy tactical team filed out of the war room, Elena sat in her wheelchair, watching Roman’s tall, imposing figure disappear down the dark corridor. For the first time, she realized she wasn't just terrified of losing Amelia—she was terrified of losing him.
