Chapter 4 - The Confrontation in the Penthouse“Well, well, well,” Victor sneered, his voice dripping with venom as he stepped into the master bedroom. His eyes swept over the luxurious furnishings, lingered on Elias, and finally locked onto the bundle in my arms. “Look at you, playing society queen in a mafia palace. Did you really think a few days sleeping in a billionaire’s bed would save you from what you owe me, Ava?”
Elias stepped smoothly in front of me, placing his broad shoulders directly between Victor’s gun and my daughters. He didn't raise his weapon yet, but his posture was that of a coiled spring ready to strike.
“Lower your weapon, Mr. Sterling,” Elias said, his voice dangerously low. “You are standing in my home.”
Victor laughed—a harsh, unhinged sound that echoed off the marble walls. “Your home? Elias Vance, you think you’re untouchable because you control a few shipping docks in Manhattan. But you don’t understand what you’re meddling in. Those children—and that woman—belong to the Moretti syndicate. Hand them over right now, or I’ll turn this entire penthouse into a graveyard.”
“You’ve made a great deal of noise tonight, Victor,” Elias replied, stepping forward with measured, terrifying calm. “You abandoned your wife and newborn daughters to freeze to death beneath an overpass. You lied about your corporate allegiances. And now, you walk into my fortress thinking you can issue commands?”
“They hold the bloodline keys to the entire eastern seaboard!” Victor screamed, losing his composure, his grip on his pistol shaking wildly. “If the Moretti elders get those twins, our syndicate controls every port from Boston to Washington! Give them to me!”
“They don’t belong to the Moretti syndicate,” Elias declared, his voice ringing out like a judge’s gavel. “And they certainly don’t belong to a pathetic parasite who tried to murder his own family to secure a promotion.”
Victor’s face turned purple with rage. “Kill him!” he bellowed to the four mercenaries behind him.
The mercenaries raised their weapons.
They didn't get a chance to fire.
From the shadows of the hallway behind Victor, Tony and two of Elias’s elite enforcers dropped from the ceiling access panels, their submachine guns barking in unison. A deafening barrage of suppressed gunfire shattered the air. Two of Victor’s guards dropped instantly, their bodies hitting the marble floor with dull thuds. The other two scrambled for cover, returning wild, blind fire into the walls.
Elias moved with blinding, predatory speed.
In less than three seconds, he crossed the room, grabbed Victor by the lapels of his designer suit, and slammed him hard against the mahogany armoire. Victor’s pistol flew out of his hand, clattering across the floorboards.
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Elias pressed the cold barrel of his Sig Sauer directly under Victor’s chin, forcing his head up.
“You wanted an empire, Victor?” Elias whispered, his voice dripping with lethal ice. “You wanted power? Let me show you what real power looks like.”
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