Chapter 5 - The South Street ReckoningThe South Street pier was deserted, swept by a bitter autumn wind that carried the smell of salt, diesel, and industrial decay. The skeletal frames of abandoned shipping cranes rose like iron giants against the black sky. Roman’s Maybach pulled up near the edge of the concrete pier, its headlights cutting through the swirling mist to illuminate a lone black sedan idling fifty yards away.
Grant stepped out of his car first, slamming the door behind him. He looked disheveled—his expensive silk tie was half-unknotted, his hair was messy, and in his right hand, he clutched a heavy Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum with a desperate, shaking grip.
"Evelyn! Get out of the car!" Grant yelled, marching toward us across the concrete, his boots echoing sharply in the empty night. "Get out of the car right now or I swear to God I'll put a bullet through your husband's windshield!"
Roman calmly opened his door and stepped out onto the pier, ignoring the gun completely. He stood tall against the wind, his tailored overcoat snapping around his knees.
"You're holding that weapon like an amateur, Grant," Roman said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the crashing waves. "You spent your whole life hiding behind bodyguards, shell corporations, and locked basement doors. You don't know how to pull a trigger unless someone else is bleeding first."
"Shut up! Shut up!" Grant shrieked, raising the barrel of the gun directly at Roman’s chest. "I built this empire! Arthur Mercer left it to me!"
"Your father left you a dying syndicate because you were too weak to build your own," I said, finally pushing my door open and stepping out into the cold night air. I walked around the hood of the car, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Roman, refusing to cower, refusing to look away from the man who had tormented my childhood.
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Grant’s eyes bulged with pure rage as he saw me standing unbowed beside the most dangerous man in the city. "You think this monster is going to protect you, Evelyn? He doesn't love you! You were just a payment! A trophy for his revenge!"
"He didn't buy a trophy, Grant," I said, my voice cutting through the wind like a knife. "He bought an accomplice."
