Chapter 3 - Shadows in the BoardroomBy dawn, the storm outside had cleared, leaving the city slick and gleaming beneath a pale autumn sun, but inside the executive suite of Voss Global Logistics, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Adrian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, the city skyline stretching out behind him like a chessboard he was rapidly losing control of. On the leather sofa across the room sat Matteo, methodically cleaning a silver lighter.
"Lena is stable," Matteo said without looking up. "The doctors managed to save the pregnancy. But she’s asking when you’re moving her back to the penthouse."
Adrian didn't answer. He stared at a single document resting on his desk—the divorce papers Isabella’s attorney had already filed by 8:00 AM.
"She’s moving fast," Adrian muttered, rubbing his temples.
"She’s a Voss, boss," Matteo replied calmly. "What did you expect? She helped you launder your first million through the shipping docks. She knows where every body is buried—literally and metaphorically. If she wants to tear down your empire, she doesn't need a sledgehammer; she just needs to make a single phone call to the federal prosecutor."
"She won't," Adrian said, though his voice lacked conviction. "She’s carrying my children."
"She’s carrying her children, Adrian. And right now, she has every reason to believe you’re a liability."
The heavy oak door of the office burst open without a knock.
It wasn't Isabella. It was Viktor Vance, the ruthless head of the Eastern Syndicate and Adrian’s primary rival in the city’s shipping cartel. Viktor walked in with two armed guards flanking him, his tailored suit smelling faintly of expensive scotch and danger.
"Adrian," Viktor smiled, his eyes cold as glass. "I hear congratulations are in order. Or should I say condolences?"
Adrian stood up slowly, his height and predatory posture immediately filling the room. He didn't reach for the weapon tucked inside his holster; he didn't need to. "Vance. You’re trespassing."
"Am I?" Viktor chuckled, walking over to the bar and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "Word travels fast in this city, my friend. A powerful Mafia boss has two women in the same hospital at the same time—one carrying his mistress's bastard, the other carrying his wife's heirs, and his wife is currently liquidating her shares in Voss Global."
Matteo stood up, his hand resting casually inside his jacket, locked onto the grip of his pistol. Viktor’s guards immediately stiffened, their hands hovering over their holsters.
"Let them try," Matteo whispered softly, his eyes fixed on the guards.
Adrian held up a hand, signaling Matteo to stand down. He walked around his desk, stopping mere feet from Viktor.
"My personal life is none of your concern, Viktor," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet tone.
"It becomes my concern when your weakness threatens the entire cartel," Viktor snapped, slamming his glass down on the desk. "The board is in an uproar. If Isabella divorces you and takes half of Voss Global, our shipping routes, our import channels, and our leverage with the port authority go up in smoke. You have forty-eight hours to fix your family, Adrian, or the syndicate will step in and 'manage' the situation for you."
Viktor turned on his heel and strode toward the door, pausing just before the threshold.
"Tick-tock, boss. Empires don't fall from external attacks. They rot from the inside out."
The door clicked shut. Silence descended on the office once more, heavier and more suffocating than before.
Adrian looked at Matteo. "Get the car. We’re going back to St. Mary’s."
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"Which room, boss?" Matteo asked quietly. "The mistress or the wife?"
"Both," Adrian said. "It’s time to end this war."
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