Chapter 9 - The Reckoning in the Garage
The security garage beneath the Chestnut Hill estate was vast, clinical, and illuminated by harsh overhead LED lights. Rows of classic luxury cars sat pristine and polished along one wall, while the far corner had been cleared out for a very different kind of business.
Eric Dalton was tied securely to a heavy metal chair, a strip of grey duct tape plastered across his mouth. His designer jacket was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and his eyes were wide with sheer, unadulterated terror as the heavy metal security door slid open with a loud clank.
Footsteps echoed across the concrete floor.
Vincent Caruso walked slowly toward him, removing his leather driving gloves one finger at a time. Behind Vincent walked Marcus and two towering security enforcers.
Vincent stopped three feet away from Eric, looking down at the shivering young man with an expression of supreme, effortless contempt.
Marcus stepped forward and ripped the duct tape off Eric’s mouth with a sharp snap.
“Agh!” Eric yelped, gasping for air. “You guys are crazy! You can’t do this! I have rights! I’m the father of Grace’s baby! I’ll call the cops—I’ll call the FBI!”
Vincent raised a single hand, and Eric fell instantly silent.
“You think you are calling the police?” Vincent asked, his voice calm, smooth, and terrifyingly quiet. “Mr. Dalton, do you know where you are standing? You are standing inside a private fortress owned by a man who the federal government spent twenty years trying to pin down without success. You think local law enforcement cares about a low-life scam artist who scales my fence with a cheap publicity stunt?”
Eric swallowed hard, cold sweat beading on his forehead. “Grace... Grace loves me! We were together!”
“Grace loathes the ground you walk on,” Vincent corrected him smoothly. “And the moment she told you she was pregnant, you ran away like a coward, changing your phone number because you didn't want the financial burden of a child.”
Vincent stepped closer, leaning down so his face was inches from Eric’s.
“And now, financed by my rival Sal Marcone, you crawl back here trying to use my great-niece as a pawn to extort my estate?” Vincent’s eyes flashed with a lethal, terrifying fury. “You severely miscalculated, Eric.”
Before Eric could beg for mercy, the side door of the garage clicked open again.
Footsteps approached.
Grace walked into the garage. She was no longer wearing her party gown; she had changed into a comfortable cashmere sweater and slacks, her expression calm, resolute, and completely fearless.
“Grace!” Eric cried out, putting on a pathetic, tearful act. “Thank God! Tell your uncle to let me go! We’re going to be a family, babe! I’m sorry I left—I was just scared!”
Grace stopped five feet away from him. She looked at the man who had abandoned her when she was at her absolute lowest, begging for scraps of pity while surrounded by men who would bury him in a shallow grave without blinking.
She felt no anger left. Only a profound, liberating pity.
“You weren't scared, Eric,” Grace said quietly, her voice echoing clearly in the vast garage. “You were selfish. When I needed a partner, you treated me like an inconvenience. And when you thought there was money to be stolen, you treated my daughter like a lottery ticket.”
She turned her gaze to her uncle.
“Uncle Vincent, what did Sal Marcone promise him?”
Vincent raised an eyebrow in mild surprise at her composure. “Ten thousand dollars and a legal team to file false custody claims.”
Grace let out a soft sigh. She looked back at Eric, who was trembling violently.
“File the restraining order, Marcus,” Grace instructed calmly. “And make sure copies are sent to every family court judge in the tri-state area. If he comes within five miles of me or my child ever again, let Uncle Vincent handle him however he sees fit.”
May you like
“With pleasure,” Vincent smiled darkly.
“As for you, Eric,” Grace added, looking down at her ex-boyfriend one last time. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Because you don’t exist to us anymore.”
