Chapter 6 - The Fall of Declan FitzpatrickAt 9:30 AM, three black armored sedans pulled onto the rain-swept cobblestones outside Pier 4 in Brooklyn.
Federal Marshals and state tactical units had already surrounded the main warehouse, slapping heavy steel handcuffs around the wrists of Declan’s thirty mercenaries as they were marched out toward transport vehicles.
Standing near the edge of the pier, his expensive wool coat ruined by rain, his hands bound tightly behind his back in heavy steel cuffs, was Declan Fitzpatrick.
Mateo stepped out of the lead sedan, holding a large black umbrella, stepping smoothly onto the wet cobblestones.
Walking beside him, wearing an elegant dark wool coat, holding her head high, her posture royal and sovereign, was me.
When Declan saw us walk toward him—standing side by side in unbroken, impenetrable unity—his face went dead, paper-white under the overcast morning sky.
"Mateo...!" Declan stammered, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic squeak as he struggled against the marshal's iron grip. "You... you brought federal marshals into our business?!"
Mateo stopped three feet from Declan, holding the umbrella over my head, his gray eyes cold, flat, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"You came into my city, Declan," Mateo spoke softly, every word dropped like an iron weight into the roaring wind from the bay. "You tried to use my wife to wage a petty street war. Did you really think I would waste blood on a man who defaults on his bank notes?"
Senior Federal Marshal Marcus Sterling stepped forward, holding open an official court binder.
"Declan Fitzpatrick," Marshal Sterling announced cleanly, "you are under arrest for federal racketeering, commercial wire fraud, and attempted premeditated murder in the car bombing of Duca Logistics."
Declan dropped onto his knees right there on the wet cobblestones, looking up at me with weeping, bloodshot eyes.
"Vivienne... please!" Declan whimpered pathetically. "Tell him to stop this! You kissed me! You wanted me!"
I looked down at Declan from beside my husband, holding Mateo’s arm, my hazel eyes cold, clear, and utterly unbothered.
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"I didn't kiss you because I wanted you, Declan," I said deadpan, my voice carrying clean over the sound of the ocean waves. "I kissed you because I knew my husband would destroy you for touching me."
Declan let out a loud, sobbing shriek of pure, unadulterated ruin as the marshals dragged his groveling frame into the back of a federal transport vehicle, driving away into the dark rain.
