When the lion wakes
The air in the safehouse was too still.
Victor paced the living room, hand never far from the gun on his hip. Amara sat by the window, eyes locked on the treeline beyond the electric fence.
It had been two days.
No word from Roman.
Only silence.
Victor wasn't the talkative type, but even he looked unsettled. He checked his phone every ten minutes, muttered under his breath, and didn't sleep more than an hour at a time.
Amara, on the other hand, was barely holding it together.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream.
But every moment Roman was gone… a little piece of her unraveled.
She thought of his voice, the way it dropped low when he was trying to control his temper. The way he looked at her like she wasn't just his distraction—she was his *peace*. And now, he was out there trying to protect her, probably bleeding for it.
And she was stuck behind locked doors, waiting.
Again.
---
Meanwhile, in the underbelly of Brooklyn, Roman wasn't just bleeding—he was hunting.
Enzo had gone too far.
The attack on the shipment was only the first blow. The message on the truck made it personal.
Roman didn't send men to retaliate.
He went himself.
With Victor guarding Amara, Roman brought Luca and two other men he trusted with his life.
They moved like ghosts—one safehouse, one warehouse, one alley at a time. Any associate with ties to Enzo was questioned. Then warned. Or removed.
"You think she's worth all this?" Luca asked as they burned another stash house to the ground.
Roman didn't blink. "She's worth more than all of it."
And that was the truth.
He'd spent years building his empire on silence and strength. But Amara made him feel *alive* again. She didn't flinch when he showed her the truth. She didn't run when he warned her. She stood there, kissed him, and told him he was *worth the fear*.
Now Enzo had declared war.
And Roman would answer.
---
Back in Connecticut, Amara's breaking point came quietly.
She was in the kitchen, trying to pretend she had an appetite, when her phone vibrated on the counter.
Blocked number.
She answered anyway.
At first, there was silence. Then—
"You must be very special," a voice rasped. Male. Older. Calm.
Her blood went cold. "Who is this?"
"You've made a man like Roman Casso forget who he is. That's not easy."
"Enzo," she breathed.
He chuckled. "Smart girl."
Victor appeared in the doorway the moment he heard the name. She put the call on speaker.
"I want you to know something, Amara," Enzo said. "This was never about you. Not at first. But Roman made it that way."
"You think threatening me will break him?" she asked.
"No. I think *losing* you will."
The call ended.
Victor locked down the house in minutes. He contacted Roman immediately.
Roman answered on the first ring.
"She got the call," Victor said. "Enzo just made it official."
Roman didn't respond right away. But when he did, his voice was cold steel.
"Send her back to the city. She's safest with me now."
---
They moved that night.
Three-car convoy. Armored. Armed.
Victor sat in front, tension wound tight in his shoulders.
Amara sat in the back, heart pounding. This wasn't just about safety anymore. Enzo had made it *personal*.
And she knew Roman would go further than ever before.
For her.
---
When they arrived, Roman was waiting in the lobby of his private high-rise.
He didn't say a word when she stepped out of the car.
He just pulled her into his arms and held her.
Not like a man reclaiming a lover.
Like a man finding the only thing keeping him human.
"I'm okay," she whispered.
He held her tighter. "Not until he's gone."
---
Upstairs, the penthouse was already fortified. Bulletproof windows. Emergency generators. New guards at every entrance.
Amara sat beside him as Victor debriefed the latest intel.
"Enzo's planning something big. He's pulling in outsiders—people we don't know. The old rules are out the window."
"Then we burn the whole board," Roman said flatly. "No more rules."
Victor nodded and stepped out.
Amara turned to him. "You can't go to war for me."
"I'm not," he said. "I'm going to war for *us*."
She didn't speak.
Roman reached into his jacket and pulled something out.
A chain. Thin. Silver.
At the end of it… a ring.
Simple. Sleek. Not flashy.
He placed it in her hand.
"I don't expect promises," he said. "Or answers. But this… this is what you are to me now."
Her voice caught. "Roman…"
"I don't care what happens next. Who comes for us. How this ends. You're mine, Amara. And if that makes me weak…" He smiled, dark and sure. "Then they've never seen what a man will do for the woman he refuses to lose."
---