Chapter 5 - Shadows on the TarmacTwelve hours later, the rain was pouring down in sheets across JFK International Airport.
Harper and Leo sat near Gate B14, their carry-on bags clutched tightly between their feet. Leo looked pale, exhausted, but immensely relieved as he nervously checked his watch.
"Harp, are you sure this is real?" Leo whispered, looking around the bustling terminal. "Are we actually getting out?"
"We're getting out," Harper assured him, though her own stomach was tied in knots. She kept checking her phone, half-expecting an alert, a canceled ticket, or a shadow stepping out of the crowd.
Her attorney had assured her the legal documents were airtight. Roman Moretti was a man of his word when it came to business contracts—even illicit ones. But Vincent Moretti was a loose cannon, and Roman’s warning from earlier that morning echoed relentlessly in her mind: He'll come after you.
"Flight 442 to London Heathrow is now boarding passengers in zones one and two," the gate attendant’s voice crackled over the intercom.
"Come on," Harper said, grabbing her bag and pulling Leo to his feet.
They joined the line, inching slowly toward the jet bridge.
As they handed their boarding passes to the attendant, Harper felt a sudden, chilling prickle at the back of her neck—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
She glanced back over her shoulder into the crowded terminal.
A group of men in dark trench coats were standing near a newsstand fifty yards away. One of them adjusted his collar, and as the fluorescent light hit his face, Harper’s blood ran cold.
It wasn't Roman. It was one of Vincent Moretti’s primary enforcers, holding a silenced pistol inside his coat pocket.
"Leo, run!" Harper screamed, shoving her brother through the jet bridge door.
Gunshots cracked through the terminal.
Panic exploded. Glass shattered as civilians dove for cover. Harper dragged Leo down the narrow enclosed corridor of the jet bridge, the heavy metal walls offering zero ballistic protection as bullets pinged off the aluminum siding behind them.
They burst into the doorway of the commercial airliner, panting and terrified.
"Sir, you can't—!" a flight attendant cried out, but Harper shoved past her into the cabin, pulling Leo down the aisle toward the rear rows just as two armed men stepped into the jet bridge entrance.
The cabin erupted into screams.
Before Vincent’s men could level their weapons down the aisle, a massive shadow blocked the doorway behind them.
Roman Moretti had arrived.
He wasn't wearing a suit anymore. He wore a heavy black tactical jacket, his face grim, his own firearm drawn. He didn't hesitate. Two rapid, deafening shots echoed through the jet bridge, followed by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Roman stepped over the fallen enforcers, walking calmly into the aircraft cabin.
The passengers cowered in their seats. Harper stood frozen in the aisle row twelve, staring at him in utter disbelief.
Roman walked down the aisle, stopping a few feet away from her. His jacket was spattered with rain, and a small scratch bled near his collarbone, but his dark eyes were laser-focused on her.
"I told you," Roman said, his voice entirely steady despite the adrenaline pumping through the cabin. "Vincent wouldn't let it go."
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Harper stared at him, her chest heaving. "You... you followed us?"
"I told you I was going to protect my investments, Harper," Roman said softly, stepping closer. "And you happen to be the best investment I ever made."
