Chapter 4 - The Power Play
The dance ended, but Larkin made no move to release her. Instead, he led her away from the dance floor toward the VIP lounge, ignoring the envious, stunned stares of rival syndicate bosses. Word was already spreading through the room; whispers of Who is she? and Is Larkin taking over a new family? rippled through the crowd.
As they reached the semi-private perimeter of the lounge, Victor Vance, the head of the ruthless West Coast syndicate, stepped into their path. Victor was a mountain of a man with a scarred cheek and a reputation for cruelty that rivaled Larkin's own.
"Larkin," Victor rumbled, his greedy eyes roaming over Penelope with nauseating familiarity. "I didn't know your tastes ran toward high-end art. Introduce me to your companion. Maybe she'd prefer working for a syndicate that actually knows how to treat a masterpiece."
Thomas Dixon, who had hovered nervously nearby, sucked in a sharp breath. Victor Vance didn't make passes at another boss's date unless he wanted a bloodbath.
Larkin’s jaw tightened, his hand instinctively dropping toward his shoulder holster. The temperature in the immediate vicinity plummeted.
Before Larkin could draw his weapon or put a bullet between Victor's eyes, Penelope stepped forward.
She didn't cower. She didn't look at Larkin for protection. She looked up at the towering, blood-soaked warlord with an expression of supreme, icy disdain.
"Mr. Vance," Penelope said, her voice cutting like a scalpel through the ambient noise of the gala. "According to my preliminary forensic audit of your secondary shell companies in Delaware, your liquidity is currently down forty-two percent. If you spent half as much time paying your maritime shipping debts as you do leering at women who are infinitely out of your league, the federal indictment dropping next Tuesday might actually catch you by surprise."
Victor froze. The color drained entirely from his scarred face, leaving him looking like a ghost in a tuxedo. He stared at Penelope as if she were a ghost holding a loaded grenade.
"How... how do you know about—"
"I process the invoices, Victor," Penelope smiled sweetly, her crimson lips parting to reveal teeth that looked remarkably like a shark's. "And right now, your credit score is the only thing uglier than your suit. Run along. The adults are talking."
Victor looked from Penelope to Larkin, whose face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated shock, and then back to Penelope. Without another word, the terrifying West Coast boss turned on his heel and practically fled into the crowd.
Thomas Dixon grabbed the back of a velvet sofa to keep from collapsing.
Larkin stared at Penelope, his mind racing to catch up to the sheer magnitude of what had just happened. She had dismantled a rival kingpin with two sentences and a smile.
May you like
"You knew about Victor's shell companies," Larkin breathed, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his own face.
"I know everything about everyone in this room, Mr. Steves," Penelope said smoothly, adjusting the gunmetal chain on her shoulder. "That's what happens when you let the quiet girl manage the ledger."
