"I survived 48 hours as a maid for three mafia brothers—until I cooked a breakfast that terrified them."

I stared at Roman, my mind reeling. "My mother’s diner didn't go out of business because of a shipping boss. It closed because the local bank foreclosed on her mortgage!"

"The local bank was bought six years ago by a holding company called Vance Maritime Logistics," Gabriel explained, his hazel eyes narrowing into dark slits. "Owned by your late mother’s estranged brother... Victor Vance."

Victor Vance.

The name hit my chest like a physical blow.

My mother had rarely spoken of her older brother. All I knew was that he was a ruthless, ambitious man who had abandoned their family thirty years ago to build a criminal logistics empire in New York.

"Victor Vance discovered four years ago that Clara possessed thirty percent of the original land deeds to the Cape May port terminals," Roman revealed, laying a yellowed legal document flat on the table before me. "Deeds that your grandfather left to her in his private trust."

I leaned forward, my hands shaking as I looked at the ancient parchment bearing my grandfather’s signature and my mother’s name.

"When Clara refused to sell her share to him," Roman continued, "Victor used predatory bank loans to force her diner into foreclosure, driving her into poverty until her heart failed."

A white-hot, blinding fury—a rage I had never known I possessed—ignited in my chest, burning away every lingering trace of fear.

My mother hadn't died of simple heart failure. She had been systematically broken by her own brother because she refused to let him turn her coastal home into a smuggling terminal.

"And now?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a low, razor-sharp register. "What does Victor Vance want now?"

"Victor wants the remaining port deeds," Declan answered, his bandaged hands clenching into tight fists. "And because Clara passed away... those deeds legally transferred to you and your sister, Lily."

"He knows you are working here, Maeve," Roman added, stepping up to my side, his broad hand resting gently, protectively over the back of my chair. "He sent three surveillance vans to our gates two hours ago."

I looked up into Roman’s storm-gray eyes—seeing not a terrifying crime boss, but an unbroken wall of iron standing between me and the man who had destroyed my mother.

"What do we do?" I asked flatly.