All Chapters of A Bed Of Roses : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Martinez’s POVThe basement holding room was cold and smelled of damp concrete. A single bulb hung from a black wire in the center of the ceiling, casting a harsh glare over the man tied to the heavy chair. His face was pale, his dark tactical shirt torn at the shoulder where Team Alpha had pinned him down in the dirt. Gustavo stood in the shadow behind the chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his face completely expressionless.I walked into the room, leaving the heavy wooden door slightly open. I had not put on a shirt; my bare torso was still exposed. I didn't carry a weapon in my hand. I didn't need one. The sheer weight of my presence inside these four walls was enough to change the pressure in the room.The scout looked up, his eyes wide and bloodshot as my boots clicked against the concrete floor. He swallowed hard, his jaw trembling."Name," I said, my voice a flat, low rumble that bounced off the bare walls.The man swallowed again, shaking his head. "I don't... I’m just

The afternoon sun burned hot against the concrete balustrade of the main balcony. Below, the iron gates stood wide open. The heavy armored SUVs were parked in a neat line, their engines idling with a low, vibrating hum that shook the gravel. Team Alpha stood by the vehicles, fully geared in black tactical vests, weapons held at the low ready.Gustavo walked out onto the balcony, his boots clicking heavily against the stone. He held a digital tablet in his left hand and a map printout in his right."The perimeter is clear, boss," Gustavo said, his voice clipped and efficient. "The black sedan that was watching the eastern gate pulled back twenty minutes ago. Our scouts confirm they returned to the northern canals. Kilian’s warehouse is completely exposed. I have twelve men ready to roll. We can firebomb the structure and clean out the remaining shooters in under ten minutes."I did not look at the maps. I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, where the shipping cranes of the eastern dock

Rodah’s POVThe morning inside the master suite was silent. Rain tapped steadily against the high glass windows, overlooking the thick forest at the edge of the property. I stood near the edge of the bed, folding a black wool sweater that Martinez had left on the leather chair. My hands were steady now. The terror that had gripped me during the estate breach had settled into a quiet, permanent acceptance of my reality.The bedroom door clicked open, and Martinez stepped inside. He had already been up for hours, meeting with his security leads in the lower offices. He wore a crisp dark shirt and black trousers, his face clean-shaved, his dark hair combed back. He carried no weapons in his hands, but his presence filled the entire room instantly.He stopped near the foot of the bed, his dark eyes sweeping over me, checking my posture, checking my face."You stayed upstairs all morning," Martinez said. It was a statement, not a question."You told me to stay in the room until the dock

Martinez's POV "Then bring them across the river, Maldok," I said, my voice dropping into a hard, dangerous tone. "Bring every man you have. Let us see how many of them make it past the southern access road before my heavy artillery tears your convoy apart.""Enough," Lawrence Freeheight cut in sharply. "Both of you shut your mouths."Silence fell over the line for a long three seconds. The static hummed softly through the speaker."We are not going to turn this state into an open war zone over your pride, Martinez," Lawrence continued, his thin voice slicing through the tension. "And Maldok is not going to roll tanks across the river. That is why this conference call was initiated.""What do you want, Lawrence?" I asked, holding back the anger rising in my chest. I hated being summoned, and I hated external bosses trying to dictate how I managed my home ground."A formal council meeting," Glint Edward spoke up again, taking control of the conversation with smooth authority. "All f

Martinez’s POVThe oak dining table sat under the dim light of the central chandelier. Plates were set for two, but the food had gone cold twenty minutes ago. Pedro sat across from me, slicing into his steak with slow, deliberate cuts of his knife, the metal scraping loudly against the porcelain."Your father never served cold beef, Martinez," Pedro said, chewing slowly before taking a long drink of red wine. "When we ran the southern routes in ninety-eight, we had three chefs in the main house. We lived like gentlemen, not like soldiers in a bunker.""My father lost two distribution lines because he spent more time drinking wine than checking his freight manifests," I replied, setting my fork down. "That is why he died in debt, and that is why I had to rebuild this territory from the dirt up."Pedro wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, leaning his elbows on the table. "You rebuilt it with blood, nephew. I give you credit for that. But blood