Chapter 8 - The Shadow of Vance Senior
Our peaceful morning, however, was interrupted by the sharp buzz of the penthouse intercom.
Marco’s deep voice crackled through the speaker from the private elevator foyer:
"Boss. Harold Vance is downstairs in the lobby with four corporate attorneys."
"He is demanding an audience regarding his son's bail conditions."
The gentle warmth in Rafe's eyes vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by that terrifying, cold majesty of the Don.
"Send him up, Marco," Rafe instructed calmly. "Keep his lawyers in the motor court."
Rafe turned back to me, his touch lingering against my jawline for a tender second.
"Stay in the library, Iris. This won't take long."
"I'm not hiding, Rafe," I said firmly, standing up straight and smoothing my sweater.
"Preston tried to destroy my career. If his father has something to say, I want to hear it."
Rafe looked at me, a flash of fierce pride blazing in his dark eyes.
"As you wish, my brave girl."
The private elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal Harold Vance.
Harold was a man of sixty-five with silver hair, a custom three-piece pinstripe suit, and the arrogant, entitled posture of old New York banking royalty.
Yet the moment he stepped onto the penthouse hardwood and saw Rafe standing beside me, his swagger faltered.
"Don Rossi," Harold began, his voice tight with forced composure.
"My son is currently being held without bail at the Metropolitan Correctional Center."
"The District Attorney is refusing to negotiate because your name is attached to the evidentiary packet."
"Preston committed felony grand larceny and attempted armed robbery, Harold," Rafe replied coldly, not offering the banker a seat.
"He tried to rob Mrs. Ashford's commission and assault Miss Dunn."
Harold glanced at me, his lip curling into a sneer of bitter aristocratic contempt.
"This is about a common bench jeweler from Queens?!" Harold spat, turning his fury back toward Rafe.
"My family has funded this city's political campaigns for forty years, Rossi!"
"We gave your logistics firms municipal port clearances in Brooklyn!"
"You would destroy an alliance between our families over an artisan who rents her tools?!"
Before Harold could finish his sentence, Rafe crossed the room in two blindingly fast strides.
His hand clamped around Harold’s silk necktie like an iron vice, pulling the wealthy banker forward until their faces were inches apart.
Harold gasped for air, his eyes bulging in sudden, paralyzing terror as Rafe's dark eyes bore into his skull.
"Listen to me very carefully, Harold," Rafe whispered, the words vibrating with lethal promise.
"You speak of Miss Dunn with respect, or I will dismantle every credit facility your bank holds in this state before the markets close today."
"Your son is going to federal prison for seven to ten years."
"If you attempt to tamper with a single witness, or if you ever breathe Iris Dunn's name in this city again,"
"I will not just ruin your bank, Harold."
"I will personally ensure that the Vance name is erased from every building, every museum, and every donor wall in New York."
"Do you understand me?"
Harold swallowed hard, trembling violently in Rafe's grip, nodding frantically as sweat soaked his collar.
"Yes... yes, Don Rossi. I understand."
Rafe released his tie with a flick of his wrist, stepping back with cold disdain.
"Get out of my home."
Harold Vance practically sprinted back into the private elevator, pressing the door-close button with shaking fingers.
The doors slid shut, sealing the quiet luxury of the penthouse once more.
Rafe turned toward me, his chest heaving slightly, looking at me with anxious uncertainty.
"Did I frighten you, Iris?" he asked softly.
I walked over to him, stood on my tiptoes, and wrapped my arms around his strong neck.
May you like
"You didn't frighten me, Rafe," I whispered, kissing his scarred jawline.
"You showed me what it feels like to have a real protector."
