Chapter 7 - The Viper in the Boardroom
Vance’s smile vanished completely, replaced by a cold, calculating glitter in his eyes. He took a deliberate half-step back, though he kept his chin up, refusing to show outright fear.
"Your *property*, Gabriel?" Vance murmured, glancing past Gabriel’s shoulder at Frankie. "Word on the docks is that you’re stretching yourself thin. Acquiring failing garages, bailing out degenerate gamblers... it’s not very efficient for a man who controls half the shipping lanes in Maryland."
"My business is none of your concern," Gabriel replied, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. "And if you ever step foot on my floor uninvited again, your corporate portfolio won't be the only thing getting liquidated."
Vance let out a dry, humorless laugh. He snapped his briefcase shut with a sharp *click*.
"We shall see who is laughing when the city council votes on the Pier 4 expansion next Tuesday," Vance said smoothly. "Enjoy your little garage while it lasts, Ms. Bellini. Men like Costa don't build partnerships; they collect casualties."
With that, Vance turned on his heel and strode out of the office, his expensive leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor until the heavy doors clicked shut behind him.
Silence descended upon the office once more, but the tension remained thick enough to cut with a knife.
Frankie exhaled slowly, her knuckles white where she had clenched her fists. "Who the hell was that?"
"Victor Vance," Gabriel said, turning around to face her. His expression was a mask of cold fury, though his eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "He’s a cancer on this harbor. He wants control of the entire shipping corridor, and he’s willing to burn Baltimore to the ground to get it."
"And our garage?" Frankie asked, her instincts kicking in. "He mentioned the city council vote on Tuesday. Does he know about the rail line?"
"He suspects," Gabriel admitted, walking back toward his desk and picking up his gold fountain pen. "Which means our timeline just accelerated. Vance will try to block the permits through the zoning board. He’ll use every corrupt politician in his pocket to invalidate our land titles."
"Then we fight back," Frankie said without hesitation.
Gabriel paused, looking up at her with genuine surprise. "You just signed a contract to fix trucks, Francesca. This isn't your war."
"The hell it isn't," Frankie stepped closer to the desk, slamming her palm down on the polished wood. "That garage is my father's legacy. Vance thinks he can walk in here and treat me like collateral damage? Let him try. I know every mechanic, dockworker, and union rep from here to Annapolis. If Vance wants a war, I’ll give him a grease fire."
A slow, undeniable smile spread across Gabriel’s face. It wasn't the cold smile of a businessman, nor the predatory grin of a mafia boss. It was a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.
"You never cease to amaze me, Francesca," Gabriel murmured softly, stepping around the desk until he was standing right in front of her.
The air between them crackled with an electric, undeniable heat. Frankie’s breath hitched. She looked up into his dark, gray-black eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was—of the warmth radiating from his body, of the dangerous, magnetic pull drawing her toward him.
"Gabriel," she whispered, her voice losing its defensive edge.
Before he could answer, the office door burst open again.
This time, it wasn't Vance. It was Leo, holding a half-eaten Danish, his eyes wide with panic.
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"Frankie! Gabriel! You guys gotta see this!" Leo yelled, pointing frantically toward the hallway. "The front lobby... there’s a city inspector downstairs with an eviction notice for the garage!"
***
