Chapter 13 - LeverageSamuel’s face was bruised, his glasses cracked down the center, and a strip of adhesive tape covered a split lip. Yet, as he looked across the dimly lit lounge and locked eyes with me, his expression was defiant.
"Vincent... don't listen to him," Samuel rasped, his voice strained. "He wanted your medical records. He wanted proof you were dying so the syndicate could legally fracture your shipping empire."
I slowly stood up from the booth. The ambient noise of the club seemed to fade into a dull hum, replaced by the pounding of blood in my ears.
"You touch a civilian, Viktor, and you cross a line from which there is no return," I said, my voice dropping into that cold, dead register that had made men twice his size tremble.
"Civilian?" Rostov sneered, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "He’s your doctor, Vincent! He’s the man who held your death warrant in his hands. I just wanted a second opinion. Sign the transfer papers for the Brooklyn logistics grid over to my shell corporation, and the doctor walks out with you. Refuse, and we feed him to the fishes in the East River before you can reach your car."
The bodyguards shifted, their hands hovering near their shoulder holsters.
I looked at Samuel, remembering decades of friendship, remembering the man who had stood by my hospital bed when Claire and Noah died, the man who had miraculously found a path to my remission. I couldn't let him die for my sins.
"Give me the pen," I said quietly, my gaze fixed dead on Rostov’s eyes.
Rostov smirked, sliding a leather-bound folder and a heavy gold fountain pen across the marble table. "Smart man, Vincent. Family always makes you weak in the end."
May you like
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the pen. Rostov leaned back, basking in his supposed victory, completely lowering his guard as he watched me prepare to sign away my empire.
It was the fatal mistake he had been waiting to make.
