Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the Grain ElevatorWith shaking, tear-soaked fingers, Giselle unclasped the eight-carat diamond engagement ring from her left hand.
The platinum band clattered against the mahogany wood, spinning once before coming to a halt directly beside the water-damaged ledger sheets.
Dante didn't touch the ring with his bare hands. He pulled out a clean linen handkerchief, picked up the diamond, and tossed it into the open briefcase held by Marco.
“Take Arthur and Giselle Vance down to the municipal freight elevators at Pier 14,” Dante commanded, his voice carrying the finality of a guillotine blade. “Strip them of their phones, their passports, and their credentials. They will sit in the holding office until Assistant US Attorney Marcus Vance arrives with the federal warrants.”
“Dante! No! Not the feds!” Arthur Vance wept, clawing at the carpet as two armed guards hauled him up by his armpits. “If the federal marshals take our books, our entire family goes to prison for life!”
“Your family died the moment you pushed Thomas Miller into the lake,” Dante replied coldly. “You’ve just been living in its corpse.”
As the guards dragged the weeping heiress and her broken father out through the service corridor, Don Carmine Falcone slowly stepped forward.
The elderly capo looked at Dante, then turned his gaze onto Elena Cross as she stood with her head held high beside the table.
“The Commission recognizes the debt, Miss Cross,” Falcone said solemnly, bowing his silver head with profound respect. “Your supervisor was an honorable man. And his student has the spine of an iron rail.”
Elena drew a slow, steady breath, her hazel eyes meeting the old capo’s gaze without flinching.
“Thank you, Don Carmine,” she replied softly. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me... I have twenty-two million dollars in stolen port funds to return to the city.”
A murmur of genuine, approving laughter rippled through the thirty-two syndicate leaders.
May you like
Dante stepped beside her, his large, warm hand resting naturally against the small of her back, anchoring her against the lingering adrenaline of the morning.
“Come, Elena,” Dante murmured, his voice rich with deep, undeniable warmth. “It’s time to go home.”
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