Chapter 7 - Collateral Damage
For three days, the city bled.
Mave watched the news from the safety of the cliffside fortress. The media called it a "sudden surge in gang-related industrial accidents," but Mave knew the truth. Rowan’s retaliation was swift, brutal, and utterly devastating. Warehouses burned. Illegal casinos were raided by anonymous tactical teams. Volkov’s empire was being dismantled brick by bloody brick.
Rowan barely slept. He orchestrated the war from the glass war room of the safe house, looking like a dark god moving chess pieces on a board made of human lives. He was ruthless, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient. Yet, every night, no matter how late, he would walk into the guest bedroom where Mave slept, silently check the locks, and stand by the window for ten minutes before leaving. He thought she was asleep. She never was.
On the fourth morning, the war escalated in a way Mave never saw coming.
She was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing her third cup of black coffee, when Rowan walked in. His jaw was tight, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of pure exhaustion. He placed an iPad face down on the marble counter.
"I have secured a private jet," Rowan said, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. "Elias is packing your bags. You are flying to Switzerland in one hour. You will be provided with a new identity, a house in the Alps, and the million dollars we agreed upon."
Mave frowned, setting her coffee down. "What? The thirty days aren't up. We haven't drawn Volkov out yet."
"The contract is void. You are leaving."
"Why?" Mave demanded, slipping off the barstool. "Rowan, what happened?"
He didn't answer. He just stared at the wall behind her, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Mave reached across the counter and flipped the iPad over.
Her heart stopped.
It was a live video feed, shaky and poorly lit. It showed a small, dingy basement. Tied to a wooden chair, her face bruised and her eyes wide with sheer terror, was Khloe.
"No," Mave gasped, the air rushing out of her lungs. "Oh my god. Khloe."
A man’s hand entered the frame, grabbing Khloe by the hair and jerking her head back. Viktor Volkov’s smooth, melodic voice echoed from behind the camera.
"Rowan. It seems you burned down my favorite warehouses. Very impolite. Since you are so fond of playing with fire, I thought I would take something from your little fiancé. Bring Mave Sullivan to Pier 41 tonight at midnight. Alone. Or I will send her friend back to her in very small boxes."
The video cut to black.
Mave stumbled backward, pressing her hand over her mouth to muffle a sob. "He has Khloe. Because of me. Because of that stupid fifty-dollar dare."
"She is collateral damage," Rowan said coldly, stepping around the counter. "Volkov realizes he cannot breach this safe house, so he is trying to draw you out. It is a trap. If you go to that pier, you will die."
"I have to go!" Mave yelled, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "I can't let him kill her, Rowan! She has nothing to do with this!"
"Neither did you, but here we are," Rowan snapped, his composure finally cracking. He grabbed her shoulders, giving her a slight shake. "Listen to me, Mave! Volkov has a dozen snipers watching that pier. It’s a kill box. You step foot on those docks, and you are a ghost. You are getting on that plane to Switzerland."
"No!" Mave shoved him away, a fierce, desperate fire igniting in her chest. "I am not running! I am not letting my best friend die because I kissed a mafia boss! If you won't help me, I'll walk to Pier 41 myself!"
Rowan stared at her. The silence in the kitchen was heavier than gravity. He looked at her not as a baker, not as a pawn, but as an equal. The defiance in her eyes mirrored his own ruthless stubbornness.
"You are a fool, Mave Sullivan," he whispered, running a hand through his dark hair.
"Then help me," she pleaded, grabbing the lapels of his shirt, her knuckles white. "You own the city, Rowan. Prove it."
Rowan closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. When he opened them, the dark, empty void had returned, colder and deadlier than ever before.
"Elias," Rowan called out without turning his head.
The giant appeared instantly in the doorway. "Boss."
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"Cancel the flight to Switzerland," Rowan ordered, his eyes locked on Mave. "Tell the armory to prep the heavy ordnance. We are going to the pier."
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