Chapter 6 - The Weight of the Crown and the Coldness of Steel
The air in the room,
thick with the scent of metallic blood and expensive cologne,
seemed to vibrate with the sheer force of Victor’s presence.
He stood tall,
no longer the stumbling man I had cleaned up after for months,
but a titan of industry and iron.
Julian Vane was trembling,
his hands fluttering like trapped birds against the fine silk of his waistcoat,
as he realized that the trap he had spent months setting had just snapped shut on his own neck.
"I want the records, Julian,"
Victor said,
his voice as cold as the February wind rattling the windowpanes.
"Every offshore account,"
"every shell company you used to funnel the 'consulting fees' to Dr. Pierce,"
"and every name on the board who knew about this."
I stood by the door,
clutching the Evidence—
the syringe,
the receipt,
the real pills—
feeling like a ghost in my own life.
Suddenly,
the heavy double doors of the study burst open,
and a man who looked like a more jagged,
more violent version of Victor stepped inside.
This was Marco Russo,
the younger brother,
the one who didn't care about legitimate business or shipping terminals.
He wore a black leather coat that smelled of rain and tobacco,
and his eyes scanned the room like a predator looking for the weakest link.
"Victor,"
Marco said,
his voice a low rumble.
"You look better than the last time I saw you."
"The maid’s daughter,"
Victor replied,
nodding toward me.
"She’s the reason I’m still breathing, Marco."
Marco’s gaze shifted to me,
and for a moment,
I felt like I was being weighed and measured by a god of the underworld.
"Is that so?"
he murmured,
walking toward Julian,
who began to whimper.
"Then we owe the lady and her little one a debt."
"But first,"
"we have a doctor to wake up and an executive to interrogate."
Marco didn't use a phone to call for help;
he whistled,
and two men in grey suits appeared from the hallway,
moving with a terrifying,
silent efficiency.
They picked up the unconscious Dr. Pierce as if he were nothing more than a bag of laundry.
"Take him to the basement,"
Marco ordered.
"I’ll be down in a moment to discuss his medical ethics."
I felt a surge of nausea.
I was a maid,
a woman who worried about rent and grocery coupons,
not a witness to a mafia purging.
"Mr. Russo,"
I said,
my voice cracking.
"I need to get Emily."
"I need to leave."
Victor turned to me,
and for a brief second,
the hardness in his face softened.
"You can’t go back to your apartment, Elena."
"If Julian had people in my pharmacy and in my medical staff,"
"he has people watching you."
"You are no longer just a maid."
"You are the woman who saved the King of Atlantic Harbor."
"And in this world,"
"that makes you a target."
"Marco,"
"take them to the safe house in Bedford."
"Give them everything they need."
"And find out who else was in on the 'crooked label' plot."
I wanted to protest,
to say that I had a life,
a job,
and a routine,
but I looked at the fear in Julian’s eyes and the blood on the floor,
and I knew my old life had ended the moment Emily opened her mouth.
We were being pulled into the deep water,
and the only thing keeping us from drowning was the hand of the man I had once thought was a victim.
But as I followed Marco out,
I saw Victor pick up the phone and say one word:
"Eliminate."
May you like
The war had begun,
and the casualties were going to be high.
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