Chapter 7 - The Night Roman Let Me Save HimThe second gunshot sounded closer.
Roman moved in front of me.
I immediately stepped around him.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“This is not the time.”
“It is exactly the time.”
Another shot.
Then shouting from the corridor.
Matteo pulled a weapon from beneath his jacket.
I hated how normal that movement looked.
Roman turned toward me.
“Stay behind the shelves.”
“You first.”
His expression hardened.
“I am not joking.”
“Neither am I.”
“Claire.”
“Roman, if someone is trying to destroy those files, they came prepared for you. They are not here because of me alone.”
His eyes narrowed.
That was the moment he understood.
The attacker knew Roman would protect me.
Which meant the safest place for me might not be behind him.
Matteo glanced toward the steel door.
“She’s right.”
Roman looked at him like betrayal had just become personal.
Matteo shrugged.
“I enjoy employment, but I also enjoy living.”
“Get her to the secondary exit.”
“What secondary exit?” I asked.
Roman ignored me.
Matteo didn’t.
“Old sacristy tunnel.”
I stared.
“You have a secret tunnel under a church?”
Roman opened a drawer beneath the table and removed a second weapon.
“Former church.”
“Stop correcting that.”
A sharp burst of gunfire echoed through the corridor.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I dropped.
Roman did too.
Matteo moved toward the wall.
A voice shouted from outside.
“Boss!”
One of Roman’s security men.
“Two down. East stairwell compromised.”
Roman’s face changed.
The man I loved disappeared behind the man the city feared.
Not cruelty.
Precision.
He opened the steel door two inches.
“Status.”
“Three shooters. Maybe four.”
“Police?”
“Four minutes.”
“Too long.”
Roman shut the door.
He looked at Matteo.
“Take Claire.”
“No,” I said.
Both men ignored me.
I stepped between them.
“I swear to God, if you keep discussing me like luggage—”
Roman grabbed my shoulders.
Not hard.
But suddenly.
His eyes burned into mine.
“Someone is shooting at us.”
“I noticed.”
“You can be angry tomorrow.”
“I’m angry now.”
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“And I am trying to keep you alive.”
“I know how to survive this.”
“So did your father?”
That stopped him.
I regretted it instantly.
His grip loosened.
But I did not take the words back.
“Your first instinct is always to become him when you’re scared.”
Roman stared at me.
“I am nothing like him.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t say that.”
“I said your instinct. Not your character.”
The corridor erupted again.
Matteo looked at us.
“This relationship is fascinating, but perhaps later?”
I pointed toward the computer.
“They came for the records.”
“Yes,” Roman said.
“So why are they shooting?”
“To reach the server room.”
“Where is it?”
Matteo answered.
“Behind us.”
I turned.
A small locked door stood in the far wall.
“You disconnected the terminal.”
“Yes.”
“But the local server still holds the archive.”
Matteo nodded.
I looked at Roman.
“They don’t need to kill us.”
“No.”
“They need us away from that server.”
Roman’s expression shifted.
Exactly.
This was a diversion.
A violent one.
But still a diversion.
“Secondary exit,” I said. “Where does it come out?”
“Rear courtyard.”
“And the server?”
“Fire-rated room. Separate ventilation.”
“Can it be physically removed?”
Roman shook his head.
“Not quickly.”
“Then we don’t defend it.”
Matteo stared at me.
“What?”
“We leave.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“They’ll destroy it.”
“Do you have backups?”
Silence.
I looked at him.
“Roman.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
Matteo actually laughed.
“You’re worried about operational security now?”
Roman ignored him.
“Three locations.”
“So let them burn this one.”
Roman stared at me.
It was almost funny.
The man had spent his entire life defending territory.
Warehouses.
Businesses.
People.
Secrets.
He did not know how to deliberately abandon something valuable.
“Choice,” I said.
His face changed.
“What?”
“You taught yourself loyalty instead of possession.”
I pointed toward the server room.
“That is possession.”
“It contains evidence.”
“It contains copies.”
He understood.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Then Roman lowered his weapon.
“Matteo.”
“Finally.”
“Take the tunnel.”
We moved.
The entrance was hidden behind a shelving unit because apparently Roman’s father had committed fully to villainous architecture.
Matteo pulled a lever.
The shelf shifted.
Cold air rushed from a narrow stone passage.
“You first,” Roman told me.
I glared.
He lifted both hands slightly.
“Not because I own you. Because if someone is waiting inside, Matteo goes first, you follow him, I cover the rear.”
That was irritatingly reasonable.
“Fine.”
Matteo entered.
I followed.
Roman came behind me.
The shelf closed.
Darkness swallowed us.
A strip of emergency lighting ran near the floor.
The tunnel was barely wide enough for one person.
Old brick scraped my coat.
The air smelled like damp stone.
Behind us, another gunshot sounded.
Then silence.
Too much silence.
We moved quickly.
Matteo reached a metal door.
He lifted one hand.
Stopped.
Roman touched my shoulder.
I looked back.
He pointed toward the floor.
A thin wire crossed the threshold.
My breath stopped.
Matteo crouched.
“Trip trigger.”
“For what?” I whispered.
He examined it.
“Alarm.”
Roman said, “Can you bypass it?”
“Yes.”
A metallic sound came from behind us.
The hidden shelf.
Someone had found the tunnel.
Matteo worked faster.
Roman turned.
I heard footsteps.
Not running.
Walking.
Whoever was coming knew where we were.
Roman raised his weapon.
My heart hammered.
“Almost,” Matteo muttered.
The footsteps grew louder.
Roman stood in front of me again.
This time I let him.
Not because he had ordered me.
Because there are moments when equality means allowing another person to do what they are better trained to do.
That distinction mattered.
A shadow appeared at the far end.
Roman fired.
The shot exploded through the narrow tunnel.
The shadow disappeared.
Someone fired back.
Brick shattered beside Roman’s head.
He jerked.
“Roman!”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
Blood appeared along his temple.
Not from a bullet.
Stone fragments.
But the sight froze me.
For one terrible second I saw my mother’s crash.
Headlights.
Snow.
A person I loved disappearing because powerful men decided fear was a tool.
Something inside me snapped.
Not into panic.
Into clarity.
I grabbed Roman’s coat and pulled him sideways just as another shot struck where his chest had been.
He looked at me.
Surprised.
“Claire—”
“Move.”
Matteo opened the door.
Cold air poured inside.
We spilled into a storage room behind the foundation kitchen.
An alarm immediately began screaming.
“Police are close,” Matteo said.
Roman locked the door behind us.
We crossed the kitchen.
A woman screamed when she saw us.
Margaret.
The foundation director.
She stood near a pantry holding a fire extinguisher.
Roman stopped.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Get down.”
She didn’t.
Instead she looked at the blood on Roman’s face.
Then at me.
Then toward the hallway.
“I told them you weren’t here.”
Everything stopped.
Roman’s voice became very soft.
“Who?”
Margaret’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry.”
Matteo raised his weapon.
“Hands where I can see them.”
She lifted them.
Tears filled her eyes.
“They had my grandson.”
My anger vanished.
Roman’s did not.
But he lowered his weapon.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I swear.”
“Margaret.”
“They called this afternoon. They knew his school. His address. They sent me a picture of him getting off the bus.”
My stomach turned.
“What did they want?” I asked.
Her gaze moved toward me.
“The archive access schedule.”
Roman went still.
“You told them we were coming.”
“Yes.”
“Did you give them network credentials?”
“No.”
“Keys?”
“No.”
“Then how did they get inside?”
Margaret began crying harder.
“I let one of them into the foundation office yesterday. He said he needed to inspect the fire system. I thought—”
The lights flickered.
Roman grabbed my arm.
Then released it immediately.
“Move.”
A crash came from the front hallway.
Matteo pushed open the rear exit.
Snow.
Sirens.
Blue lights flashed beyond the alley.
We stepped outside.
For one breath, relief hit me.
Then Roman collapsed.
I caught him badly.
He was too heavy.
Matteo reached us instantly.
“Roman.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are on the ground.”
“I slipped.”
“You’ve been shot.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Roman looked annoyed.
“That seems dramatic.”
Matteo pulled open Roman’s coat.
Dark blood spread across the lower right side of his shirt.
I stopped breathing.
“Roman.”
He looked at me.
“I didn’t feel it.”
That was worse.
“Ambulance!”
Police poured into the alley.
Someone shouted for medics.
Roman tried to stand.
I put both hands against his shoulders.
“No.”
He looked almost offended.
“You don’t get to rephrase that one,” I said.
His face had gone gray.
“Claire.”
“Stay down.”
“I need to—”
“You need to stop talking.”
Matteo pressed cloth against the wound.
Roman winced.
My hands started shaking.
No.
Not now.
I grabbed Roman’s hand.
He looked at me.
“Hey.”
That word broke something inside me.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was ordinary.
The same man who could terrify a room was lying in dirty snow saying hey like he had found me across a crowded kitchen.
“You’re not allowed to die.”
His mouth moved.
“Possessive.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Shut up.”
“Very controlling.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The medics arrived.
They moved me aside.
I hated every second of it.
Roman’s fingers slipped from mine.
Then someone put him on a stretcher.
I climbed into the ambulance.
A medic blocked me.
“Ma’am—”
“She comes,” Roman said.
His voice was weak.
But it still sounded like an order.
The medic looked at me.
“Are you family?”
I froze.
Roman looked at me.
Not answering for me.
Waiting.
Choice.
Even bleeding.
Even now.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
It was the first time I said it.
Not girlfriend.
Not partner.
Not the woman my father once tried to trade.
Family.
The ambulance doors closed.
At Massachusetts General, everything became fluorescent light and paperwork.
They took Roman into surgery.
The bullet had entered his side and missed his kidney by less than an inch.
I sat in the waiting room with blood on my coat.
His blood.
Matteo sat across from me.
Neither of us spoke for twenty minutes.
Then he said, “You saved him.”
I looked up.
“No.”
“You pulled him before the second shot.”
“He would have moved.”
“No.”
The certainty in Matteo’s voice frightened me.
I stared at the dried blood on my hands.
“I didn’t think.”
“That’s usually when people show who they are.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Roman says something similar.”
“Unfortunately, Roman says many things.”
I looked at him.
“What happens now?”
“Police found two attackers.”
“Alive?”
“One.”
“Who is he?”
“Unknown.”
“And Margaret?”
“Her grandson is safe. Police picked him up.”
Relief moved through me.
“Good.”
Matteo nodded.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
“The server.”
“What about it?”
“The attackers destroyed it.”
I closed my eyes.
“But the backups—”
“Intact.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
Matteo leaned forward.
“Because someone accessed the backup in Geneva forty-three minutes before we arrived at the church.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Unless someone knew where it was.”
“Yes.”
“Who knew?”
Matteo’s face became very still.
“Roman.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Teresa.”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“That’s it?”
He didn’t answer.
“Matteo.”
“There was one more person.”
“Who?”
His eyes met mine.
“Roman’s younger brother.”
I blinked.
“Roman doesn’t have a brother.”
Matteo looked toward the surgery doors.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“He does.”
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
For more than a year, Roman had taught me that truth given freely was different from truth discovered by force.
May you like
Yet lying in an operating room twenty feet away was the man I loved.
And I had just discovered there was an entire person he had never told me existed.
