Chapter 3 - The Breaking Point
The silence in the study was so absolute you could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway.
Dominic’s smile vanished entirely. The slick, confident facade dissolved, revealing the panicked rat underneath. He looked at Arya, who stepped away from him, her face flushing with anger.
“You’re paranoid,” Arya snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because you’re trapped in that chair, staring at the walls all day, you think everyone is plotting against you. Dominic is trying to save your empire while you sit here feeling sorry for yourself!”
“Shut up, Arya,” Vincent said. It wasn't a shout. It was a low, seismic rumble that made both of them flinch.
Vincent gripped the wheels of his chair, rolling closer until he was towering—or as much as he could tower while seated—over the desk. His dark eyes locked onto Dominic.
“The bullet that hit my spine didn't hit my brain, Dominic,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. “I built this family with my bare hands. Every ship in that harbor, every brick in this house—it belongs to me. You think you can cut me out while I’m broken? You think you can play house with my fiancée and steal my livelihood?”
Dominic swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He glanced toward the door, calculating his chances. “Vince, be reasonable. You can’t run the streets anymore. You need liquid capital. The syndicate offered twenty million upfront—!”
“Get out,” Vincent said.
Dominic blinked. “What?”
“Get out of my house before I remember that my arms still work well enough to snap your neck,” Vincent roared, his voice finally breaking through the restraint, echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
Dominic didn't wait for a second invitation. He snatched the papers off the desk, shoved them into his portfolio, and practically bolted out of the study, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind him.
Arya stood frozen for a moment, her chest heaving. She looked down at Vincent, her expression twisting from guilt into pure, unadulterated venom.
“You fool,” she hissed, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. “You absolute fool. You’re finished, Vincent! Your empire is dead, and you’re going down with it. I’m not spending the rest of my youth wiping drool off the chin of a crippled mob boss!”
She ripped the five-karat diamond engagement ring off her finger, threw it across the room so it clattered against the mahogany bookshelf, and stormed out of the study, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
Vincent sat alone in the vast, echoing room.
His chest heaved. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, hot and bitter, but his legs remained dead, useless logs beneath him. He gripped the armrests of the wheelchair so hard his knuckles turned white, the plastic groaning under the pressure.
He was ruined. Betrayed by his brother-in-arms, abandoned by his fiancé, and trapped in a body that wouldn't obey his commands.
The study door creaked open again.
Vincent didn't look up, assuming it was one of the guards or a terrified maid coming to clear the debris.
“I told you to leave me alone,” Vincent growled, his voice cracking.
“I didn't come to bother you,” a quiet, steady voice answered.
Vincent lifted his head.
Tessa stood just inside the doorway. She wasn't wearing her blue uniform anymore; she had her coat on, her purse slung over her shoulder, her shift clearly over for the evening. She must have heard the shouting from the kitchen.
May you like
On the floor near the bookshelf, the diamond ring glittered coldly in the dim light.
Tessa walked past it without glancing down. She crossed the study, holding a small paper cup of water and two white pills she must have retrieved from his bedside cabinet.
