CHAPTER 4: The First Move
By dawn, the whole city had shifted quiet as a shadow. Every club, every warehouse, every construction site under Julian’s control had been visited—quietly, politely, but unmistakably. Supplies delayed, permits revoked, guards reassigned, contracts voided. No shots fired, no blood spilled… not yet. But everyone knew something had changed. Everyone knew Victor Voss had drawn a line.
Julian sent no message. Made no call. But at noon, when Victor walked into his office, a small package sat right in the center of his desk: the waitress uniform I’d worn the night before, folded neatly, stained still with liquor and mud, with a single blood-red rose resting on top.
Victor set it on the corner of his desk without touching it, his face giving nothing away. “He wants me to react. He wants me to rage and make mistakes. He thinks I’m still the same man I was twenty years ago.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said from the doorway. I’d changed into my own clothes now—black jeans, leather jacket, heavy boots—ready to stand beside him.
“No,” he said instantly, turning to me. “It’s too dangerous.”
“This started with me,” I said, stepping into the room. “And I’m not hiding behind walls while you fight my battles. I’m a Voss too. Whatever he throws at you, he throws at me too.”
He looked at me long and hard, searching my face for hesitation, for fear I wouldn’t admit. When he found only resolve, he nodded once, sharp and final. “Stay close to Marcus. Do exactly what he says. And if I tell you to run… you run. No questions. No looking back.”
We drove to the old shipping docks on the river—the last place Julian had been seen operating openly, a stretch of rotting wood and rusted metal everyone else had abandoned years ago. The sun hung low over the water, painting the waves gold and orange as we pulled up to a long, low warehouse with its heavy metal doors rolled wide open.
Julian stood in the center of the empty space, flanked by ten men with guns visible at their hips. He smiled when he saw us—cold, sharp, triumphant, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment his whole life.
“Victor,” he called out across the empty floor, his voice echoing off the tin roof. “I see you brought the prize. I was wondering how long it would take you to come running.”
“Leave her out of this,” Victor said, stopping ten feet away, his own men fanning out silently behind us. “This is between you and me.”
“Why?” Julian laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “You used her to make yourself look better. The good father, the honest businessman, the man who changed his ways. But we both know you built this empire the same way I did—blood and fear and lies. You just learned to wear a better suit and smile for the cameras.”
He nodded straight at me. “Those boys last night? They didn’t know who you were. But I did. I wanted to see if you’d still be the little girl who cries when things get hard. I wanted to see if Victor Voss’s precious daughter was anything more than a pretty face.”
I stepped forward before my father could stop me, my voice carrying clear across the space. “I’m not crying. And neither are you—when this is over.”
Julian’s smile faded slowly, replaced by a cold, hard glare. “We’ll see about that.”
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