Chapter 9 - The Trap SpringsThree days later, the transition of power at Sterling’s Bistro was complete.
Elena stood in the gleaming, newly renovated dining room, wearing a sharp black blazer, her head held high. The staff was smiling, the kitchen was stocked, and for the first time in years, she felt like she was breathing clean air.
Then the glass front doors swung open.
It wasn't a regular customer. It was a man she had never seen before—tall, impeccably dressed in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, with cold, predatory eyes and a thin, cruel smile. Behind him strode three heavy-set men with bulges under their jackets.
Julian Vance.
Elena’s spine stiffened. She stepped out from behind the host stand. "Good afternoon. We aren't open for lunch service yet. Reservations only—"
"I don't need a reservation, Mrs. Carter," Vance interrupted smoothly, his voice silky and dripping with false charm. He walked right past her, his eyes scanning the luxurious interior with mild amusement. "I’m Julian Vance. I believe you’re currently sitting in my investment property."
Elena’s blood ran cold. She had heard the whispers among the staff about the shadow backers who used Sterling as a front.
"Mr. Sterling’s assets were liquidated legally by order of the court and transfer of deed," Elena said firmly, keeping her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
"Courts are messy, bureaucratic things," Vance smiled, stepping closer to her. "They take months. Bullets and leverage take seconds." He pulled out a sleek silver phone, tapping the screen. "And right now, I have a direct feed from a daycare facility three blocks away. A very nice place. Red hoodie, cute pigtails, answers to the name Rory."
Elena’s breath caught in her throat. The world tilted sideways.
"You son of a bitch," she hissed, lunging forward, but one of Vance’s enforcers stepped in, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back with casual brutality.
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Vance didn't flinch. He held the phone inches from her face. On the screen, a live video feed showed Rory sitting at a small plastic table, building a Lego tower, completely unaware that a scarred man in a leather jacket was standing just outside the fence.
"Tell Vincent Kane," Vance whispered coldly into Elena’s ear, "that he can have the bistro back—along with every dime he stole from my portfolio—if he meets me at the old rail yards at midnight. Alone. If he doesn't... well, accidents happen to children every day in this city."
