Chapter 23 - The Marseille Proposition
“A eulogy?” Adrian stepped closer, his height and presence dominating the sunlit living room. “Who is supposed to be dead, Elena?”
“You are,” Madame Cartier replied smoothly, walking over to the window and looking out toward the beach where Oliver and Emma were safely locked away in the panic room. “Or have you forgotten how the underworld works, my boy? When a king abdicates his throne, he doesn't get to retire to a cottage and plant petunias. The vacuum he leaves behind attracts scavengers. And right now, the European council is starving.”
I walked out from behind the bookshelf, my hands steady, my voice cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “The European council was dismantled when Vance’s accounts were frozen. The international task force saw to that.”
Madame Cartier turned her gaze toward me, her eyes narrowing as she assessed me with cold, aristocratic disdain. Ah, Dr. Laurent. Or Mrs. Moretti, as the whispers go. You always were remarkably good at hiding behind hospital scrubs. But federal task forces only catch the men who want to be caught. The real syndicates—the ones that existed before your father was even born—don't rely on digital spreadsheets.”
“What do they rely on?” I asked, refusing to flinch under her gaze.
“Blood,” Madame Cartier said simply. She turned back to Adrian. “A coalition of family heads from Marseille, Palermo, and St. Petersburg are moving into New York and Miami. They don't care that you stepped down, Adrian. They believe you took the ultimate treasury reserve with you when you dissolved the Moretti assets. They want the keys. And if you don’t give them the keys voluntarily, they will come for everything you love.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. The air in the room grew suffocating.
“Tell them to try,” Adrian whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, absolute calm. “Tell them that the last people who tried to touch my family are currently rotting in federal supermaxes and graves in New Jersey. I am out of the game, Elena. But if they cross my threshold, I will burn their syndicates to ash before they even reach the state line.”
Madame Cartier studied his face for a long, agonizing moment. She saw no bluff in his gray-green eyes. Only the cold, unyielding resolve of a apex predator guarding its den.
May you like
A slow, grim smile touched the old woman’s lips.
“I told them you wouldn't come quietly,” she murmured, picking up her wicker basket. She turned toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Good luck, Adrian. You’re going to need it. The wolves are already on the highway.”
