Chapter 5 - The North Side ThreatGabriel Vance.
Just hearing the name made the air in the sunroom drop twenty degrees. Gabriel was the ruthless head of the North Side syndicate—a man who had spent the last decade waiting in the wings like a vulture, watching the Caruso and Mercer families tear each other apart so he could swoop in and pick the bones clean.
“Tell him the harbor routes are closed permanently,” Roman said into the intercom, his voice cold enough to shatter glass.
“I told him,” Marcus replied. “He says he didn't come to negotiate with you, Boss. He came to negotiate with the new controlling partner of Mercer Shipping. He knows Grant signed over the proxy shares to Evelyn before the wedding.”
Roman froze. He slowly turned his head to look at me.
“Proxy shares?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow.
“When Grant was desperate for my signature on the prenuptial asset transfers last month,” I explained calmly, standing up from my chair, “he slipped a bundle of proxy voting rights for the minority shipping terminals into the stack, thinking I wouldn't read the fine print. He wanted to use my name as a shield if federal regulators audited his secondary holdings.”
Roman’s lips curved into a dangerous, predatory smile. “Your brother really was an idiot to the very end.”
“Gabriel thinks I’m a scared debutante who will sign over those terminals out of fear,” I said, walking over to the oak desk in the corner of the sunroom and picking up my leather portfolio. “He thinks he can bully me the way Grant did.”
“And what do you plan to do about it, Mrs. Caruso?” Roman asked, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket.
“Show him what happens when someone mistakes survival for weakness,” I replied, my eyes flashing with cold resolve.
Ten minutes later, the grand foyer of the Long Island estate resembled an armed camp.
Six of Roman’s top security operatives stood near the front doors with their weapons secured under their jackets, while Marcus held the heavy oak security monitor showing the front courtyard.
On the screen, Gabriel Vance—a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke navy suit with cold, calculating eyes—stood beside his heavily armed enforcers, tapping impatiently against the intercom pillar.
“Let them in,” Roman commanded.
The heavy iron gates swung open. Gabriel’s black Lincoln Navigator rolled up the circular drive and parked right beside Roman’s Maybach.
When the front doors opened, Gabriel walked into the foyer like he owned the building. He didn't even take off his leather gloves.
“Roman,” Gabriel sneered, nodding dismissively at my husband before his eyes locked onto me. A greasy, patronizing smile spread across his face. “And Evelyn. Or should I say, Mrs. Caruso? My condolences on your brother’s sudden legal misfortune.”
“Save your condolences, Gabriel,” Roman said, his voice a low warning growl. “State your business and get off my property.”
“My business isn't with you, Roman,” Gabriel said smoothly, taking a step forward and addressing me directly. “It’s with the legal owner of the Terminal Four shipping docks. Grant Mercer may be behind bars, but his proxy shares are legally tied to your maiden name, Evelyn. And since you’re just a sweet, delicate flower who probably doesn't even know what a Bill of Lading is, I’m here to offer you a very generous buyout for those shares.”
Gabriel pulled a thin leather folder from his breast pocket and dropped it onto the marble foyer table.
“Five million dollars cash, wired to a Swiss account by tonight,” Gabriel smiled smugly. “Sign the transfer papers, and you can live out your days in this pretty little cage without ever having to worry about the mob again.”
I looked at the folder, then looked up at Gabriel.
I didn't flinch. I didn't tremble. I stepped forward, smoothing down the cuffs of my silk blouse with absolute, chilling composure.
“Five million dollars,” I repeated softly.
“It’s more than your brother ever would have given you,” Gabriel chuckled, assuming I was hooked.
“You’re right about one thing, Gabriel,” I said, my voice cutting through the foyer like a razor blade. “I am not my brother.”
Gabriel’s smile faltered slightly. “Then sign the papers—”
“My brother was a weak, vicious coward who operated out of panic,” I interrupted, stepping closer until I was standing mere feet from him. “I, on the other hand, spent ten years auditing every illicit ledger, bribe, and shell corporation Grant ever touched. I know where every body is buried, Gabriel. And more importantly… I know how much your North Side syndicate owes the federal banking commission in unpaid maritime tariffs.”
Gabriel’s face drained of color in a millisecond. All the smug arrogance vanished from his eyes, replaced by sudden, stark terror.
“You… what?” Gabriel stammered.
“You think because I wore a white dress and lived in a mansion that I was trapped?” I smiled—a cold, beautiful, merciless smile that mirrored the exact expression Roman wore when he destroyed his enemies. “I wasn't trapped by my family, Gabriel. I was biding my time.”
Roman stood just behind me, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with a look of such profound, burning adoration that it felt like the sun breaking through a storm.
“Marcus,” Roman called out lazily.
May you like
“Boss?”
“Escort Mr. Vance off the property,” Roman ordered, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s petrified face. “And make sure he understands that if he ever sets foot in my county again, I won't just seize his shipping routes. I’ll feed him to the fish in the Hudson.”
