Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Inner Circle
The boardroom on the fortieth floor of the Corinthian Tower smelled of Cuban cigars, double espresso, and unearned confidence. Mateo was leaning back in the black leather executive chair, laughing heartily with two underbosses as I entered. When the double oak doors swung open, the laughter died in an instant.
I walked in without a security detail, my sleeves rolled to my forearms, hands empty. The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Everyone knew Marcus Vance as a cold tactician—a man who calculated percentages and signed death warrants with a fountain pen. But the man walking toward the head of the table had eyes like scorched earth.
"Marcus," Mateo started, offering an easy, arrogant grin while raising both hands in mock surrender. "You're late. We were just saying that domestic life must be making you sluggish. Elizabeth keep you busy this morning?"
The casual disrespect slipped off his tongue like water. It was the same tone he had used last Thursday, confident that his balance sheet made him untouchable.
I didn't answer. I crossed the ten feet of imported carpet in three strides. Before Mateo could push his chair back, my left hand clamped around the collar of his tailored Italian shirt, hauling his two-hundred-pound frame out of the chair like he weighed nothing. With a sickening crack of splintering mahogany, I slammed his face straight into the edge of the boardroom table.
A collective gasp echoed across the room. Guns cleared leather instantly. Luca stepped into the doorway, drawn Glock held steady, shouting down the armed guards until the room froze in a standoff of cocked hammers.
Blood blossomed across the polished wood, dripping onto Mateo's silk tie. He sputtered, choking on broken teeth and shock, trying to claw my fingers away.
"You had a lot of opinions last Thursday," I whispered into his ear, pressing his cheek harder into the mahogany until the bone groaned under my knuckles. "You thought my wife was an ornament. You thought her opinions were a joke. You told a room full of hyenas that she was using a child to manipulate me."
"Marcus—wait—it was business—banter—" Mateo coughed, pure terror diluting the bravado in his eyes.
"She was carrying my child, you piece of garbage," I snarled, my voice dropping so low it rattled the glass walls. "And because I didn't snap your neck on the spot, she thought I agreed with you. She thought she was alone in this city."
I shoved him backward. Mateo collapsed into an undignified heap against the credenza, clutching his shattered nose, his fancy suit ruined by his own crimson mess. I stood over him, my chest heaving, the entire board watching in paralyzed disbelief. These were men who ruled through fear, yet they were staring at a monster they hadn't realized was sleeping inside me.
"As of right now, Mateo is stripped of his territory, his commission, and his security detail," I announced, turning slowly to face every captain at the table. "Anyone who speaks to him is dead. Anyone who trades with him is dead. And if any man in this room ever fails to show Elizabeth Vance the reverence owed to a queen, you will not die quickly."
"Marcus," one of the older lieutenants stammered, raising a trembling hand. "Where is she? Where is Mrs. Vance?"
The question cleaved straight through my chest, exposing the hollow rot inside. I had all the authority in New York City, dozens of armed soldiers waiting on my command, millions in offshore accounts, and the woman who gave my life purpose was somewhere out there, cold, alone, and terrified of me.
May you like
"She left," I admitted, my voice flat and hollow. "Because I was a coward who cared more about your loyalty than her heart."
I turned my back on the wreckage and looked at Luca. "Find her. Use the transit logs, private aviation registries, cash withdrawals, burner cell towers. Don't touch her. Don't scare her. Just tell me where she is breathing."
