Chapter 8
He gently pried her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze before turning his broad shoulders toward the door. He slipped out into the hallway, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. Diana immediately threw the deadbolt, pressing her back against the wood, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
The grand foyer of the Crowne estate was a cavernous space of polished marble and soaring archways, entirely devoid of the warmth present in the master suite above. The cascading crystal chandeliers were unlit, the only illumination coming from the harsh security floodlights outside bleeding through the high, reinforced windows.
Vincent descended the sweeping marble staircase with measured, deliberate steps. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the intricate, refined tattoos wrapping around his muscular forearms.
Standing in the center of the foyer, surrounded by six of Vincent’s heavily armed enforcers, was Victor Voss. Elara’s father was a ruthless, aging capo, his face flushed with arrogant rage, his heavy wool overcoat looking out of place amidst the tactical gear of the guards.
"Where is my daughter, Crowne?" Victor demanded, his voice echoing loudly in the cold space. "You have lost your damn mind! You cannot hold a Voss hostage in your own home!"
Vincent stopped on the final step, towering over the older capo. His cold, perceptive eyes analyzed Victor with the clinical detachment of a butcher observing livestock.
"Do you believe you give orders in my home, Victor?" Vincent asked, his deep voice a low, terrifying rumble.
"I am not giving orders, I am giving you a final warning!" Victor spat, taking a step forward before Marcus’s massive hand slammed into his chest, stopping him dead. "Release Elara right now, or the alliance is dead, and we go to war."
"Are you willing to die for a woman who imprisons wives and orchestrates fake funerals?" Vincent asked, his jaw settling into a sharp, uncompromising line.
Victor sneered, trying to maintain his bravado. "She was just securing her place! You are soft, Vincent! You are letting a ghost and a maid dictate the politics of the entire eastern seaboard!"
"Do you consider the premeditated torture of my family to be mere politics?" Vincent inquired, stepping off the stairs and closing the distance between them until he was mere inches from Victor’s face.
"It's business!" Victor shouted, spit flying from his lips in a desperate attempt to reclaim control of the room. "And right now, business dictates that you hand her over before I burn this place down!"
"Shall we see how much your business is worth when it is buried in ashes?" Vincent asked softly.
"You're insane. Hand her over, Vincent. This is your last chance," Victor hissed, lunging forward.
Before Victor could even raise his fist, Vincent moved with blinding, lethal speed. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply reached out, his tattooed hand closing like a steel vice around the lapels of Victor's heavy overcoat. Vincent lifted the older capo slightly off the marble floor with one arm, the sheer masculine power in his broad shoulders evident as Victor choked and thrashed wildly in the air, his polished leather shoes kicking uselessly.
"Did I invite you into my home to listen to your insults?" Vincent asked, his cold eyes boring into Victor’s rapidly purpling face.
He held Victor suspended for three agonizing seconds before violently throwing him backward. Victor crashed onto the polished marble, gasping frantically for air, clutching his bruised chest, his expensive overcoat ruined.
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"Will you crawl back to your vehicles before I decide to keep you here as well?" Vincent asked, looking down at the pathetic figure on the floor.
Marcus grabbed Victor by the collar and hauled him to his feet, shoving him roughly toward the heavy front doors. "Get out of here before the boss changes his mind."
