Chapter 8 - The Enforcer’s Quiet Vengeance
While Serena met with her high-powered family law attorney in a secure office downtown—shielded by two of Victor’s most trusted armed guards—Victor Rinaldi was paying a very different kind of visit.
The private VIP lounge of an exclusive members-only club in downtown Manhattan smelled of aged scotch, expensive cigars, and quiet desperation.
Dante Moretti sat at a corner leather booth, pouring himself a drink with a hand that wasn't quite steady. His botched assassination attempt had cost him three of his best men, and the board meeting at noon had gone disastrously in Victor’s favor.
The private elevator chime pinged.
The heavy oak doors slid open.
Victor walked into the lounge alone. He didn't rush. His footsteps echoed softly against the herringbone wood floor.
Dante froze, his glass hovering halfway to his mouth. He forced a strained, nervous smile. "Vic. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you finally decide to sell your stake in the Brooklyn shipping lanes?"
Victor didn't answer. He walked over to the booth, placed both hands flat on the polished mahogany table, and leaned down until his face was inches from Dante’s.
"You sent three men into my home, Dante," Victor said, his voice so quiet it sounded like a death sentence whispered in a crypt. "You woke my sons. And you threatened a woman under my roof."
Dante swallowed hard, trying to maintain his arrogant facade. "Business, Vic. Just business. You're getting soft, keeping strays in your mansion. I was just—"
Before Dante could finish his sentence, Victor’s hand shot across the table, grabbing him by the silk tie and jerking him forward until his chest slammed against the edge of the wood.
"You don't understand the rules, Dante," Victor snarled, his dark eyes flaring with primal fury. "You can come after my money. You can come after my territory. But the moment you touch anything that belongs to my world... you sign your own death warrant."
"I have backers!" Dante choked out, clawing at Victor’s grip. "The commission won't let you—!"
"The commission doesn't exist anymore," Victor whispered coldly. "As of two hours ago, every shell company, every offshore account, and every dock warehouse registered under your name was seized by federal marshals acting on an anonymous tip provided by my legal team."
Dante’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror. "You... you bankrupted me?"
"No," Victor corrected softly, his grip tightening until Dante’s face turned purple. "I erased you."
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Victor shoved him backward so hard the leather booth skidded across the floor, crashing into the wood-paneled wall. Dante slumped forward, gasping for air, utterly destroyed.
Victor straightened his suit jacket, adjusted his cuffs, and turned toward the private elevator without looking back.
