Chapter 7 - Facing the Mirror
Back at the Shore Road estate, Amelia sat in the grand library surrounded by thousands of leather-bound volumes. A fire blazed in the stone hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany floor.
On the large desk in front of her, a high-end laptop displayed the decrypted files from the black titanium drive.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard with the speed and precision of a concert pianist. The swelling around her eye had gone down, revealing the sharp, intelligent amber of her eyes. She was wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater Angela had brought her, but beneath the comfort of the clothes, her spine was iron.
She was done hiding.
Vincent walked into the library, his coat draped over his arm. When he saw her working, the stern lines around his mouth softened slightly.
"You should be resting, Amelia."
"I’ve rested for three months, Vincent," she said, looking up at him without fear for the first time. "Every day I spent pouring coffee was a day I was running from the truth. Raymond isn't just an abusive husband. He’s a monster who is about to hand military weapons to the Marcone syndicate."
Vincent walked over to the desk, resting his hands on the leather back of her chair. The subtle scent of his sandalwood cologne and the cold autumn air enveloped her, making her feel safer than she had ever felt in her life.
"You found the transaction?" Vincent asked, looking at the glowing screen.
"I found everything," Amelia said, turning the screen toward him. "The Marcones aren't paying Raymond in cash. They’re transferring ownership of three offshore holding accounts that control the distribution rights to the Brooklyn navy yard terminals—your terminals, Vincent. Raymond’s plan isn't just to get me back. He wants to use the Marcones to cut your throat from the inside."
Vincent leaned down, his face inches from hers as he studied the balance sheets. Amelia felt the warmth radiating from him, the absolute, unyielding power of a man who feared nothing. For a brief second, their eyes met—the wounded girl who had refused to die, and the aging king who had spent his life guarding the gates.
"You are brilliant," Vincent said softly.
A faint blush touched Amelia’s cheeks, but her gaze did not waver. "He took my life, Vincent. He took my dignity, he broke my body, and he thought that because he had money and power, I would crawl into a hole and die. I want him to see me when he falls. I want him to know that the girl he knocked into the dirt was the one who pulled the trigger on his empire."
Vincent’s smile this time was not cold; it was fierce, proud, and deadly.
"Then you shall have your seat at the table," Vincent said. "Raymond has arranged a meeting with Leo Marcone at 1:00 AM at the Riverview Club on the Brooklyn side of the bridge. He believes he is negotiating from a position of absolute dominance."
"What are you going to do?"
Vincent reached down, his thumb gently brushing the faint bruise near her cheekbone—a touch so surprisingly tender it made her breath catch.
May you like
"I am going to introduce Mr. Fletcher to the true cost of doing business in Brooklyn," Vincent said. "Put on your coat, Amelia. It is time to reclaim your name."
***
