Chapter 6 - Smoke and Mirrors
The morning sun broke over the Baltimore harbor, casting a brilliant golden light across the water. But inside Costa Vanguard’s downtown headquarters, the atmosphere was as chilly as ever.
Frankie stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, sipping a cup of black coffee that actually tasted good—a subtle reminder that she was no longer in her leaky, grease-stained office down the street.
The door behind her opened, and Gabriel walked in, wearing a slate-gray suit that fit him with razor-sharp precision. He didn't look like a man who had spent half the night negotiating mafia debts; he looked like a CEO ready to conquer Wall Street.
"Your brother is currently downstairs eating a complimentary breakfast in the executive cafeteria," Gabriel said, tossing a set of keys onto the desk. "And hyperventilating every time someone in a suit looks at him."
Frankie turned away from the window, leaning back against the glass. "Good. A little panic will do him some character-building."
Gabriel walked over to his desk, picked up the keys, and slid them across the polished wood toward her. Frankie looked down. They weren't office keys. They were the keys to a brand-new, matte-black Ford F-250 Super Duty.
"What's this?" she asked suspiciously.
"Your new service vehicle," Gabriel replied, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Your 2008 Silverado is a safety hazard, Francesca. The brakes are shot, the transmission leaks, and I refuse to have my chief fleet consultant driving a deathtrap on Baltimore highways."
"My truck has character," Frankie retorted, crossing her arms.
"Your truck belongs in a scrap yard," Gabriel corrected smoothly. "Consider it a signing bonus. Along with the fifty thousand dollar equipment upgrade deposit that was wired to Bellini Auto’s account twenty minutes ago."
Frankie stared at him. Fifty thousand dollars. Combined with the wiped-out debt, her family’s garage was suddenly more financially secure than it had been in thirty years.
"You move fast, Costa," she said, narrowing her eyes.
"When I see something I want," Gabriel said, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch, "I don't waste time."
Before Frankie could formulate a witty retort, the heavy oak doors of the office flew open without a knock.
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a tailored Italian suit strode into the room, holding a thick leather briefcase. His silver hair was slicked back, and his sharp, hawk-like nose gave him the appearance of an aristocratic vulture.
Victor Vance.
Frankie recognized him immediately from the business pages of the *Baltimore Sun*. Vance Enterprises was Costa Vanguard’s primary rival on the shipping docks—a ruthless corporate conglomerate rumored to have deep ties to international syndicates that made Gabriel’s local operations look like a Sunday school picnic.
Gabriel’s relaxed posture vanished instantly. The air in the room dropped ten degrees.
"Gabriel," Vance said, his voice smooth, dripping with false warmth. "I hear you’ve been busy consolidating the waterfront. Securing old rail lines and... family-owned garages?"
Gabriel didn't move. He stood tall, his jaw tightening slightly. "Victor. To what do I owe the displeasure of your uninvited presence?"
Vance’s gaze shifted from Gabriel to Frankie, standing by the window in her canvas work jacket and steel-toed boots. A condescending smile touched Vance’s thin lips.
"Ah. The little mechanic," Vance purred, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps. "I heard rumors that Costa Vanguard was expanding into scrap metal. I didn't realize you were hiring charity cases."
Frankie’s blood boiled. She pushed off the glass window, stepping forward to meet Vance head-on, but before she could open her mouth, Gabriel was there.
In two fluid strides, Gabriel stepped between Vance and Frankie, blocking Vance’s path entirely. The sheer physical presence of the mafia boss forced Vance to halt, his aristocratic smile faltering under Gabriel’s murderous glare.
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"Step back, Victor," Gabriel whispered, his voice dangerously low, carrying the lethal promise of violence. "You are standing too close to my property."
***
