Chapter 3 - The Cold Teak Beneath Her Knees
Camilla clenched her fist around the heavy steel stylus, her knuckles turning bone-white.
“Matteo... my father is Antonio Vance! He controls the dry docks in Genoa! You cannot threaten an allied family in international waters!”
Matteo didn't blink. He didn't raise his voice.
He simply reached out with his left hand, his large, scarred fingers closing around Camille’s wrist with the crushing, measured pressure of an industrial clamp.
A sickening pop echoed through the quiet deck.
Camilla let out a high-pitched shriek of agony as her fingers involuntarily splayed open. The diamond-tipped stylus slipped from her palm, tumbling end over end before clattering onto the teak deck.
Matteo caught it by the balance point with his right hand.
He didn't release her wrist. He pushed down with effortless leverage, forcing Camille downward until her knees hit the hard wood with a concussive thud.
Her shimmering gold sequin gown dragged through the puddle of spilled champagne.
“Kneel,” Matteo whispered, leaning down until his lips hovered inches from her ear. “Kneel on the wood my wife paid for, and tell her why you brought forged certification documents into her salon.”
Julian Sterling backed away until his shoulders slammed against the bronze railing, looking wildly toward his private security contractors.
Four armed men in tailored blazers stepped forward from the portside companionway, their hands reaching under their coats.
Before their fingers could touch a holster, three port authority speedboats surged alongside the yacht’s hull, blue emergency strobes washing across the deck. A dozen tactical operators in black body armor leaped over the gunwales with suppressed carbines raised to their shoulders.
“Drop your weapons!” the tactical commander barked through an electronic bullhorn.
The four contractors froze, their eyes widening as they recognized the black viper crest embroidered on the operators’ tactical gear. They dropped their pistols onto the deck cushions, raising their hands in total surrender.
Julian collapsed against the rail, clutching his chest, sweating through his tuxedo.
“Don Matteo, I beg you! It wasn't my idea! Camille arranged the private sale! She told me the Burmese ruby was unregistered contraband that could be liquidated through my offshore fund!”
Maeve stepped forward, wrapping Matteo’s cashmere tuxedo jacket tighter around her chest.
Her gaze swept over the kneeling heiress with cold, absolute clarity.
“The Burmese ruby isn't contraband, Julian,” Maeve said, her clear voice slicing through the salt air. “It’s the Star of Mandalay. Stolen from my family's private vault in Antwerp twelve years ago during the harbor riots.”
She looked down at Camille’s pale, tear-streaked face.
May you like
“And your father’s container line was the only vessel that cleared the Scheldt estuary the night the vault was blown open.”
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