Chapter 13 - The Caldwell Retaliation
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The kiss was fierce, desperate, and tasted like scotch and adrenaline. Victor’s hands tangled in my hair, pulling me flush against his chest. For a moment, the entire world outside that office ceased to exist.
When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily.
“You are a dangerous distraction, Anna Martinez,” Victor murmured against my lips.
“I’m not afraid of danger,” I whispered back.
But the danger was far more real than I realized.
The next morning, the fallout from Ethan’s broken wrists hit the city like a bomb. Richard Caldwell wasn't just a real estate mogul; he had deep, corrupt ties to politicians and rival crime families.
I was sitting in the estate's sunroom, drinking coffee, when Marco rushed in looking grim.
“Where’s Victor?” Marco asked sharply.
“He’s in a meeting in the study,” I said, standing up. “What’s wrong?”
“Caldwell just called in his favors. The police raided three of our shipping warehouses this morning. They seized shipments and arrested ten of our guys. Caldwell is trying to bleed us out.”
Victor walked into the sunroom, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying calm.
“They want a war over a broken wrist,” Victor said, buttoning his suit jacket. “Fine. We’ll give them a war.”
“Victor, they have the police in their pockets,” I said, panic rising in my chest. “This is because of me.”
“This is because Richard Caldwell is a dying king trying to hold onto his crown,” Victor corrected, walking over and kissing my forehead. “You are simply the spark that ignited the powder keg. Do not leave the estate today, Anna. Marco will stay with you.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To buy a police commissioner,” Victor said smoothly.
For the next three days, the estate was locked down. Heavily armed men patrolled the grounds. The news was filled with stories of Caldwell Real Estate properties mysteriously catching fire, and Caldwell executives resigning amidst sudden, brutal blackmail scandals.
Victor was dismantling the billionaire’s empire piece by piece.
But Richard Caldwell was a desperate man. And desperate men don't play by the rules.
On the fourth day, my cell phone rang. It was an unknown number.
May you like
I answered it.
“Ms. Martinez,” a cold, aristocratic voice spoke. “This is Richard Caldwell. I believe you and I need to have a conversation about my son. Meet me at Pier 44 in one hour, or I’ll have my men visit your mother’s care facility.”
