Chapter 21 - Shadows in the PenthouseThe silence of the penthouse was shattered only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock and the distant sirens wailing somewhere down on Park Avenue. Three weeks had passed since the collapse of Vance Global Holdings, and the vacuum left in the underworld had begun to twitch.
I sat at the mahogany desk, reviewing the consolidated shipping ledgers of our newly acquired maritime ports. Every entry was accounted for, every tax loophole plugged. The syndicate was no longer just an organization of muscle and blood; it was an invincible corporate machine.
The heavy oak door swung open without warning.
Carmine walked in, flanked by two armed enforcers dragging a man whose hands were zip-tied behind his back. The prisoner's face was bruised, his designer suit torn and caked in warehouse grime.
It wasn't Silas. It wasn't Evelyn.
It was Viktor Thorne—the ruthless arms dealer from the Siberian syndicate who had supplied the weapons for the original drive-by shooting three months ago.
"Found him trying to board a private jet at Teterboro Airport," Carmine reported, shoving Viktor down onto his knees in front of my desk.
Viktor spat a glob of blood onto the Persian rug and glared up at me with venomous hatred. "You think you won, little cleaner? The Vances were just middle management. You poked a sleeping bear."
I didn't flinch. I slowly closed my laptop, stood up from my desk, and walked around to stand right in front of him.
"The bear is dead, Viktor," I said, my voice cold as ice. "And you're just the rotting carcass it left behind."
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Before Viktor could reply, the door opened wider, and Gabriel strode into the room, his dark overcoat billowing slightly behind him. He looked down at the arms dealer with absolute contempt.
"Viktor," Gabriel murmured, sliding his leather gloves off slowly. "You missed my funeral."
