The next part of the story is waiting. Continue reading into Chapter Two.

-8

The glass-walled office on the second floor felt insulated from the chaos raging below, though the muffled sounds of shouting and gunfire vibrated through the floorboards like a distant heartbeat.

Viktor Vance stood up from his desk, knocking his chair back with a loud screech. He was a thick-necked, middle-aged man with slicked-back gray hair and a perpetual sneer carved into his face. He reached for the submachine gun resting against his desk, barking at his lieutenants. “Go see what the hell is happening down there! If it’s federal agents, burn the ledgers!”

Before the two guards could reach the door, the glass paneling facing the exterior catwalk exploded inward in a brilliant cascade of glittering shards.

Enzo Marchetti stepped through the shattered frame, a smoking shotgun in his hands, his face set in stone. Behind him slipped Adeline, her Walther raised and pointed directly at Viktor’s chest.

“Drop it, Viktor,” Enzo commanded softly.

The two lieutenants lunged for their weapons, but they hadn't factored in the sheer speed of the Marchetti boss. Enzo racked the shotgun pump with a sharp, metallic clack-clack and fired a single round into the floor between their boots, sending splinters of wood flying.

“I wouldn't,” Enzo warned.

Viktor froze, his hand hovering inches from his gun. His eyes darted from Enzo to the slight figure standing beside him in the heavy wool coat. When his gaze landed on Adeline’s face, the color drained from his ruddy cheeks. Recognition hit him like a physical blow.

“You...” Viktor breathed, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re... you’re Arthur Croft’s girl.”

“My name is Adeline,” she said, stepping forward until she was standing at the edge of the desk, the barrel of her Walther locked dead on the center of his forehead. “You killed my father for a municipal kickback. You tore apart our family, stole our home, and called it an accident.”

Viktor tried to force a crooked, arrogant smile, though his hands were shaking. “Accident? Kid, industrial accidents happen on the docks every day. Men make mistakes, brakes fail—it’s a dangerous world. You can’t prove a damn thing.”

“I don't need to prove it to a jury, Viktor,” Adeline said coldly. “We aren't in a courtroom.”

“Wait!” Viktor shouted, holding up his hands as he backed away against the wall. He looked desperately at Enzo. “Enzo, you’re a businessman! You understand pragmatism! This girl is letting a personal grudge interfere with business! If you kill me, my entire syndicate will go to war with you—it’ll turn the entire river red!”

Enzo walked slowly over to the mahogany desk, picked up a golden pen, and tossed a standard corporate transfer document down onto the blotter right in front of Viktor.

“Your syndicate already belongs to me, Viktor,” Enzo said smoothly. “As of five minutes ago, my men have seized your shipping terminals, your warehouses, and your bank accounts. You’re broke, you’re surrounded, and your men downstairs are currently surrendering to my enforcers.”

Viktor stared at the document in horror. His eyes scanned the legal terms—a complete, unconditional surrender of all assets to the Marchetti Foundation.

“Sign it,” Enzo instructed, placing the barrel of his shotgun against Viktor’s collarbone. “Or the girl blows a hole through your skull right now, and I let my men throw what’s left of you into the river.”

Viktor swallowed hard, sweat pouring down his neck. He grabbed the golden pen with trembling fingers and scribbled his signature across the bottom of the page.

“There!” Viktor gasped, dropping the pen. “I signed it! It’s all yours!”

Enzo picked up the paper, checked the signature, and slipped it into his jacket. He looked over at Adeline.

“It’s yours,” Enzo said quietly, stepping back.

Adeline looked down at Viktor. The man who had destroyed her family, who had stolen her father’s life for pocket change, was now a pathetic, sniveling coward begging for his life on the floor of a dirty warehouse.

She lowered the Walther slightly.