Chapter 6
The interior of Roland’s armored Maybach was a stark contrast to the chaotic, brightly lit ballroom. It was quiet, insulated, and wrapped in the smell of rich leather and expensive cologne. The heavy, tinted windows blocked out the glaring afternoon sun, providing a safe, dark sanctuary as the massive vehicle sped away from the Hayes estate.
Megan and Olivia, exhausted from the crying and the trauma of the afternoon, had fallen asleep almost instantly. They lay curled together on the plush rear bench, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket Roland had pulled from a compartment.
Emily sat opposite her father, staring blankly out the window. Her beautiful, elegant dress was stained with the broth, and her fair, rosy skin was pale, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system. She twisted the platinum wedding ring on her finger, her chest tight with a mixture of overwhelming relief and deep, paralyzing fear of what was to come.
"Are you hurt?" Roland asked, his voice a low, steady rumble in the quiet cabin. He poured two fingers of amber whiskey from the car’s built-in decanter and handed the crystal glass to his daughter.
"I'm fine, Dad," Emily whispered, taking the glass with trembling hands. "Just... bruises. On my arm where he grabbed me."
Roland’s eyes darkened, the mafia boss stirring just beneath the surface of the concerned father. "How long has he been putting his hands on you, Emily?"
"It's not usually physical," Emily admitted, taking a harsh swallow of the whiskey. Her crisp American accent cracked. "It’s the control. The constant belittling. Jessica hates that I haven't given them a male heir. Michael blames me for the fact that the other families don't respect him. He takes it out on the girls. He tells them they are burdens."
"He is a weak man playing a dangerous game," Roland said, leaning back against the leather seat, adjusting his tailored three-piece suit. "But he was stupid enough to do it in public. Which means he is desperate."
"He is desperate, Dad," Emily confirmed, leaning forward, her eyes wide with urgency. "Michael is drowning. He’s been hiding it, but I saw the bank statements in his home office. The Hayes syndicate is hemorrhaging cash. He owes millions to the port authorities, and he took a massive loan from the Russian factions in South Boston to cover his operating costs last month."
Roland’s eyebrows raised slightly. The physical abuse was enough to warrant a death sentence, but the financial betrayal was the leverage he needed to dismantle Michael’s entire life without firing a single bullet.
"He borrowed from the Russians?" Roland asked, a slow, predatory smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Without the commission's approval?"
"Yes," Emily nodded quickly. "He’s using my name—your name—to secure the collateral. He thinks that because he is married to a Carter, the Russians won't dare collect on the debt."
"He overplayed his hand," Roland said quietly, looking down at his sleeping granddaughters. He reached out and gently adjusted the blanket over Olivia’s small shoulders. "He thought he could use my reputation as a shield while treating my blood like dirt."
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"What are you going to do?" Emily asked, watching the cold, calculating gears turning in her father’s eyes.
"I told them they wouldn't have leftovers to eat," Roland replied, pulling a sleek, encrypted smartphone from his pocket. "I am a man of my word, Emily. By midnight, Michael Hayes will not own the shoes on his feet."
