Chapter 22 #2
I open the Ferraro file first. Lay out the shell companies, the property transfers, the financial entanglements.
My voice is level and clear and I walk him through each document the way Massimo would, because I've been reading his contracts over his shoulder for weeks and I learned more than heretofore and notwithstanding.
I stand and move the files in front of them to see for themselves.
"All these files prove Lorenzo isn’t out just to accept or take my hand in marriage to align to families.
There’s malicious intent on his behalf. And in case I am not being blunt enough, this isn't a marriage alliance.
It's a hostile takeover. The contract you're enforcing is the final step in an eighteen-month plan to absorb Harrison Whitmore's entire operation.
Something I think we can all agree is not what my father would want if he knew.
Lorenzo doesn't want a wife. He wants an empire.
And I'm the door he walks through to get it.
This proves my father signed under duress, right? "
Harlon listens without interrupting. His scarred fingers curl around his water glass but he doesn't drink. Cassius' knuckles tap twice against the armrest, the rhythmic tell I recognize from Massimo's descriptions. Santi doesn't move. His dark eyes burn from the wall like coals.
“Does this work?”
The room is silent for a moment and then I feel my knees threaten to give out when Cassius speaks.
“Not really. He could want out and he’s closing out his debts and handing everything over with a tidy little bow at the top. You.”
He coldly shoots down everything I just said. My soul shudders under the pressure of his frosty gaze.
“It’s your word against his and up to the moment Whitmore has not come in or disclosed at any time he was forced to sign.” Santi’s soft Spanish accent gently curls around his words but does nothing to ease the blow of every last one.
My fingers grip the rest of the documents.
“What else do you have?”
That’s Harlon.
I open the second file, even though my hands start to tremble now. I carefully lay the photos on the table one by one, each image placed with deliberate care, giving Harlon time to absorb what he's seeing.
"Lorenzo's family operates or operated viewing rooms for Society 69. The auction pipeline where women are priced and sold."
“We are aware.” Harlon cuts in as he looks at the photos.
My father's face stares up from the glossy paper, caught mid-smile in a viewing room with a crystal glass in his hand.
"They used my father's attendance at these events as leverage to force the contract.
The foundation of the document you're enforcing is the same infrastructure that traffics women.
If you let Lorenzo enforce this contract and bind him to me, I fear for my life.
I fear for what he will do to me and whether you believe me or not, the man has every intention of killing my father the second he has me.
And then what? Do you want that blood on your hands?
Do you want mine on your hands? Correct me if I am wrong, but there are whispers that the men of Genesis are not a big fan of Society 69. "
“Are you trying to manipulate us?” Harlon’s gaze returns to be glacial.
“I’m begging for my life. If I have to sway, convince or bribe you, I’m okay with that.”
Harlon's jaw tightens. A muscle pulses beneath his ear. His dark eyes drop to the photographs and I watch something move behind them, deep and personal, something that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with a woman with raven hair who works at the desk outside this room.
Massimo told me about Polaris, the little he knew. I don’t judge anyone for their way of loving. Three men and one woman is remarkable. To have that kind of support around you and so much love…
"You're enforcing a document built on the same pipeline that destroyed Polaris. If you let Lorenzo’s contract go through, your chances with her are shot. I’m betting she will walk away and never look back. I’ll make sure of it one way or another.”
All three men turn their attention on me with my last words and the weight of their gazes has my knees knocking.
I have very few cards left to play. Gambling isn’t my strong suit, but love makes people do a lot of things and I am hoping these men are so head-over-heels for their lady that they play this my way.
Cassius’ eyes go hard and he looks at Harlon with an expression that says everything with a single look.
"You want to threaten the one person in this building who has nothing to do with your mess?" Santi pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me. One step. That's all it takes. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees and I feel the air leave my lungs. "Choose your next words carefully."
“You must really love her,” I counter, my chin held high.
"You’ve got balls, Sloane. Bold play." Cassius uncrosses his legs and leans forward, his pale eyes pinning me to where I stand. "Especially for a woman sitting in a room with no way out, no weapon, and a contract that currently makes her our property. You sure you want to play that card?"
My eyes go wide but I don’t budge from my position. “Do I have a choice?”
Harlon raises one hand and the room goes quiet.
"Nobody threatens Polaris. Not in this building. Not anywhere." Harlon's voice is low and even and more terrifying than either of his partners because it carries no heat at all. Just certainty.
I hold his gaze.
“Then stop forcing my hand.”
I pause to swallow the fear lodging itself in my throat.
"I never signed that contract. My consent was implied through my father's authority, I get that.
But I refuse to be a bystander in my own life.
It might work for other families and wives, but not me.
" My voice is steady. My hands fall still at my sides.
"You know what implied consent looks like, Mr. Constantine.
You've seen it destroy someone you love. "
Nobody speaks for several heartbeats. Harlon stares at the photographs spread across the table and I watch a man whose word is his only currency weigh that word against everything it's supposed to stand for.
His hand releases the glass. He picks up the stack of papers to his right. Holds them in both hands.
"The contract is voided." His voice is quiet and final and carries the weight of a man who just chose his values over his business. "Genesis will not enforce this document."
He tears it in half. The sound of paper splitting fills the room like a verdict.
"Lorenzo Ferraro presented dirty paper to my club. I told him what would happen." He sets the torn halves on the table and looks at Santi. "Find Mr. Ferraro. Bring him to me."
"That won't be necessary." I stand and collect my files. My fingers are steady on the folders. "I'll deliver the message myself."
Harlon's dark eyes hold mine. Whatever he sees in my face makes the corner of his scarred mouth pull by the smallest fraction. Not a smile. An acknowledgment. The recognition of one person who has fought for survival looking at another.
"Be careful, Ms. Whitmore. I don’t recommend you do that."
"This one time, I'm done being careful."
“You’re going to need this.”
Santi stands and from some pocket or holster he hands me a small weapon. “You know how to use this?”
I take the Glock, drop the magazine to check the load, rack the slide to confirm a round in the chamber, and seat the magazine back home. “I’m not your typical princess.”
“Aren’t you going to check the safety?” Santi pins me with a look of arrogance that makes me smile.
“Good one. But Glocks don't have a traditional manual safety. They use a trigger safety system.”
That puts some humor in their eyes and earns me a smirk from all three. I might have made some friends tonight in high places.
“Nice doing business with you, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, can you tell your killers-for-hire out there I’m no longer on the dinner menu. They were eyeing me like I was a full three course dinner when I walked in.”
Harlon, Cassius and Santi all walk me to the elevator.
I step in and hope their faces are not the last friendlies I see tonight.
Lorenzo's River North property sits behind a gated entrance on a street where money and violence share a zip code. The cab drops me at the corner and I walk the last half block in my red heels with the torn contract in my hand and the cold fury in my chest burning steadily.
Two guards are at the gate. Both of the hired muscles have on dark suits, earpieces, and wear the same practiced dry expressions that come with standing in one spot for hours.
But their boredom evaporates when they see me.
I hold up the torn contract. "Tell Lorenzo I have a message from Harlon Constantine."
They exchange a look. One speaks into his radio.
A full minute passes while the rain mists against my bare arms and my pulse stays steady even though my brain is screaming about the Glock in my clutch.
If they pat me down or search my bag, this evening takes a very different turn.
I grip the torn contract tighter and keep my face neutral and pray that Santi's faith in me wasn't misplaced.
The gate buzzes open and I remind myself to breathe again.
The interior is cold and industrial. Concrete floors.
Exposed ductwork running along the ceiling.
The faint smell of motor oil and something sharper underneath, the metallic scent of a building where violence has happened and been cleaned up and happened again.
My heels echo on the concrete as the guards escort me down a long corridor with fluorescent lights that flicker and hum.