Chapter 4 - The Mask SlipsArya’s face drained of color, the designer shopping bags slipping from her fingers to land softly on the Persian rug. Dominic stepped past her, his eyes narrowing as he took in my upright posture and Marcus’s panicked expression.
"Vincent," Dominic forced a smile, though his eyes darted nervously toward my hands. "We didn't expect you to be... up and about. You're looking remarkably well for a man recovering from a shattered spine."
"Miracles happen when you stop letting snakes water your garden, Dominic," I replied, rolling forward until I was a yard away from them.
Arya recovered her composure with terrifying speed. Her mask of innocent concern snapped back into place, though her jaw twitched. She stepped forward, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
"Darling, why are you dressed in a full suit? You'll exhaust yourself. Marcus, I thought I made it clear that Vincent needed absolute rest—"
"Marcus answers to me now, Arya," I interrupted, my voice cutting through her performance like a scalpel. "Just like the staff, the estate, and the holding company you and my dear cousin have been trying to carve up like Christmas ham."
Dominic scoffed, puffing out his chest. "Don't be dramatic, Vin. We’re just trying to manage things while you recover. You’ve been out of commission for six months. The board can't wait forever for you to remember how to sign your own name."
"Is that right?" I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out the folded document Tessa had given me earlier, letting it flutter open between us. "Funny, this doesn't look like a management agreement. It looks like a complete surrender of voting rights, signed under the assumption that I'd be locked away in a sanitarium by the end of the month."
Arya stared at the paper, then whipped her head around to glare at the corner of the room. Her eyes locked onto Tessa, who was standing by the window with her arms still crossed, wearing a look of absolute, unapologetic contempt.
"You," Arya hissed, taking a step toward the aide. "You little trash-heap. You were hired to wipe his chin, not play corporate spy!"
"Careful, Arya," I warned, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the heavy, bruising weight of every ruthless deal I had ever closed in the underworld of shipping cartels. "She earns twenty-five dollars an hour. Which means she’s worth twenty-five million times more than a gold-digger who couldn't even wait for the dirt to settle on my legs."
Dominic’s face flushed dark red. He stepped up beside Arya, puffing himself up to his full height. "You're losing your mind, Vin. You're sitting in a chair, talking like a kingpin, but you're completely powerless. What are you going to do? Call the police? Sue us? The courts already recognize our temporary power of attorney."
I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice.
"Dominic," I said quietly. "Do you remember the last man who tried to backstab me on the harbor contracts back in 2022?"
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My cousin’s bravado faltered for a fraction of a second.
"He thought power was about standing on two legs," I continued, my gaze boring straight through him. "He learned too late that real power is about who owns the keys to the gate. And right now... you’re standing inside my cage."
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