Chapter 8 - The Legal and Lethal War
"She’s an impostor!" Victor Valenti’s voice roared through the private holding room behind the ballroom, where three city captains and the Deputy Mayor had gathered away from the press. "The Vancourt girl died ten years ago! This is a shakedown by the Kane family to disrupt the port merger!"
Adrian stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes cold as he watched the two Valenti lawyers franticly typing on their secure laptops. "The DNA profile was uploaded to the state database three hours ago, Victor. Dr. West at Mount Sinai handled the collection personally. The match is ninety-nine point nine percent. She didn't die in the fire. She’s been living under your nose on Suffolk Street for a decade because your cleaners were too stupid to look in the dirt."
The Deputy Mayor looked at the documents Adrian had laid on the table—the decrypted ledger sheets showing every bribe paid to his own office since 2018. His face was the color of skim milk. "Victor... if this is real... the federal warrant is already being signed. We can't block this. The press is downstairs."
"Shut up," Victor hissed, turning to Adrian. "You think you win because you have a piece of crystal and a girl with a haircut? This city runs on my trucks, Kane. If I go down, the docks stop. The fuel doesn't move. The lights go out in Manhattan."
"Then let it be dark," Evelyn said, stepping into the room from the terrace. She was holding a tablet linked to the main Port Authority server. "As the sole trustee of the Vancourt Estate, I’ve just signed an emergency injunction freezing every commercial lease held by Valenti Logistics on the Brooklyn waterfront. You don't own the trucks anymore, Victor. They're sitting on my dirt. And I’ve just revoked your license to park."
Victor looked at her, and the last vestige of the statesman fell away, leaving behind the street thug who had climbed his way to the top with an iron pipe. He reached into his coat.
He didn't get his hand past his lapel.
Adrian was across the room in a single, explosive blur, his fist striking Victor square in the throat, pinning the older man against the mahogany wall. With his left hand, Adrian ripped the small snub-nosed revolver from Victor’s inner pocket, his thumb pulling the hammer back until it clicked against the old man's temple.
The side of Adrian’s shirt turned instantly red as his stitches finally dissolved under the strain, but his hand didn't shake by a millimeter.
"I’ve been waiting ten years to find a reason to kill you, Victor," Adrian whispered into his ear, his breath hot against the old man's skin. "Don't give me one tonight. The federal agents are at the front gate. You can leave in a suit, or you can leave in a bag. Choose now."
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Victor’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he felt the cold steel of the barrel against his bone. He let his hands drop to his sides.
"Marco," Adrian said, not lowering the weapon. "Open the door. Let the Feds have their prize."
