Chapter 16 - The Reckoning
The third-floor office was blazing with light.
Victor Vance was shoved roughly into the center of the Persian rug, his hands zip-tied behind his back, his nose bleeding slightly from the takedown against the bookshelves.
When Caleb and I walked through the double doors, Vance looked up. A bitter, ugly sneer twisted his face when he saw me standing beside his boss.
“Well,” Vance spat, blood dripping onto his lip. “Looks like the whore survived the internal audit. Shame. She looked great in handcuffs on paper.”
Before Marcus could strike him across the face, Caleb raised his hand, signaling his head of security to halt.
Caleb walked slowly around his desk. He didn't yell. He didn't rush. He stood two feet away from his former right-hand man, looking down at him with an expression of profound, clinical disappointment.
“Ten years, Victor,” Caleb said quietly. “I trusted you with my properties, my ledgers, and my back. And you sold us out to the New York families for a handful of Zurich silver.”
“You were going soft, Caleb!” Vance snarled, struggling against his zip-ties. “You spent half your time playing lord of the manor at this ridiculous estate, falling in love with domestic help! The syndicate needs a killer at the top, not a real-estate developer trying to run a charity!”
Caleb tilted his head, a dark, humorless smile touching his lips.
“You’re right about one thing, Victor,” Caleb murmured. “The syndicate does need a killer at the top.”
He reached inside his jacket, pulling out the USB flash drive Vance had just tried to steal from the archive room, and dropped it casually onto the mahogany desk.
“And tonight, I’m reminded of why I fit the job description.”
Caleb turned his head toward Marcus. “Take him to the container in Bridgeport. Tell Rossi he has a new roommate. And make sure they have plenty of time to discuss corporate loyalty.”
“No—Caleb, you can’t!” Vance screamed, panic instantly replacing his arrogant bravado as the two guards grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up. “You’ll be indicted! The federal grand jury—!”
“The federal grand jury only has jurisdiction over crimes that leave a paper trail,” Caleb interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping into a lethal chill. “And as far as the state of Connecticut is concerned, Victor Vance resigned last week and moved to the Cayman Islands to pursue a career in deep-sea fishing.”
Vance was dragged kicking and screaming out of the office, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.
Silence returned to the office.
I stood near the door, my chest heaving slightly as the adrenaline slowly faded from my bloodstream.
Caleb walked back around his desk, picked up the flash drive, and dropped it into his desk drawer. He locked it with a small brass key, then turned his attention back to me.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked softly.
“I’m alive,” I replied honestly. “Which is more than I expected when I woke up this morning.”
Caleb crossed the room, stopping just inches away from me. He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping my cheek, his stormy gray eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
“You are never leaving this house, Marisol,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of a solemn vow. “Do you understand me? You and Daisy belong here now. With me.”
I looked up into the eyes of the man who ruled empires, crushed traitors, and protected his own with savage devotion. The fear I had once felt had long since melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous, far more permanent.
May you like
“I know,” I whispered.
And as Caleb pulled me into his arms, kissing me with a fierce, possessive hunger that banished the shadows of the night, I knew my old life was gone forever—and I had never been happier to lose it.
