Chapter 4 - The Unraveling of the EmpireThe elimination of Grant Mercer from the equation sent shockwaves through the criminal and corporate underworld of New York. Within forty-eight hours, the remaining loyalists in Mercer Logistics realized their former boss had vanished to South America, leaving behind a power vacuum that Roman Caruso swallowed with terrifying efficiency.
Suddenly, the marriage that everyone had dismissed as a mafia hostage situation began to look like something entirely different.
High-society gossip columns, which had initially predicted a quick, violent divorce or a tragic accident for the young bride, were forced to print photographs of Roman and me attending charity galas arm-in-arm. And unlike the stiff, performative poses of our wedding day, the new pictures showed something undeniable: Roman looking at me with fierce, protective devotion, and me standing beside him not as a captive, but as a queen.
Yet, peace in our world was never permanent.
Three weeks after Grant’s exile, Roman called me down to his private study at midnight. The room was dark except for the green glow of a desk lamp and the amber flicker of a wall monitor displaying financial flowcharts and wire transfers.
"What is it?" I asked, walking in and resting a hand on his shoulder.
Roman didn't look up from his screen. He pointed a finger at a series of flagged transactions routing millions of dollars out of Moreno Hospitality accounts into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
"Someone inside my own executive board is bleeding us dry," Roman said, his voice dangerously low. "They're trying to frame me for embezzlement just as the federal grand jury reviews our expansion permits."
"Who?"
"Victor Vance."
My breath caught. Victor Vance—uncle of Julian Vance, the federal prosecutor who had tried to bring Roman down during our wedding month—was the senior partner of Moreno Hospitality’s financial division. He was an old-school operator who had survived decades of mafia turf wars by hiding behind expensive Italian suits and corporate lawyers.
"He thinks because I've been distracted by the family transition, I haven't been watching the books," Roman continued, standing up and turning to face me. "Tomorrow night, he’s hosting a private dinner at his estate in Greenwich to celebrate the supposed closure of our accounts. He’s invited the board, several federal judges, and our top investors."
"And you're invited?"
"We are both invited," Roman said, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "Victor wants to humiliate me in front of the entire city. He wants to announce my resignation due to 'financial irregularities' before dessert is served."
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I crossed my arms, a familiar, sharp resolve settling into my bones. The girl who had hidden behind closed doors in Westchester was gone. The woman standing here was an Arthur Mercer by blood and a Caruso by marriage.
"Then we'll go," I said calmly. "And we'll give him a dessert he'll never forget."
