Chapter 4 - The Courier's Message
The man who stepped out of the private elevator looked entirely out of place in the Rossi stronghold. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal Brioni suit, carried a slim calfskin briefcase, and wore an expression of serene, untouchable arrogance. His name was Julian Vance, senior partner at Costa, Sterling & Vance.
He didn't look at the priceless modern art or the breathtaking view of Central Park. His eyes locked straight onto Clara, standing stiffly beside Dominic near the marble kitchen island.
"Mrs. Rossi," Vance said, his voice smooth as silk. He offered a slight, mocking nod. "Or should I say, Ms. Evans? It is truly remarkable how quickly a girl from Queens learns to climb the social ladder."
Dominic didn't move, but the air around him shifted. He stepped half an inch to the left, placing his body squarely between Clara and the lawyer. "You have sixty seconds to deliver your message and step back into that elevator, Vance, before my security team throws you through the glass."
Vance smiled, unperturbed by the thinly veiled death threat. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick, heavy envelope sealed in crimson wax stamped with a chillingly familiar crest: a coiled viper encircling an iron gate.
"Mr. Costa sends his warmest regards to the newlyweds," Vance said smoothly, placing the envelope on the marble counter. "He was deeply saddened to hear about the unfortunate incident at the charity gala. Such a shame that young, innocent lives get caught in the crossfire of business disputes they know nothing about."
Clara stepped out from behind Dominic’s shoulder, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce defiance. "If Victor Costa wants to talk to me, he can stop hiding behind expensive lawyers and cowardly letters. Tell him I know my name. And I know what he is."
Vance’s polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second, revealing the cold calculation beneath. He looked at Clara with a strange, predatory curiosity. "Ah, the fire of Daniel Evans lives on. How poetic. But Mr. Costa doesn't deal in poetry, my dear. He deals in facts."
Vance tapped the red-wax envelope. "Inside you will find two things. First, an invitation to a private dinner tomorrow evening at a neutral location—an opportunity for a father to finally meet his surviving daughter."
"And the second?" Dominic asked, his voice dead flat.
May you like
"A ledger," Vance replied softly. "Containing the names of every single Rossi operative who helped orchestrate Daniel Evans's 'disappearance' twenty-two years ago. Mr. Costa thought you might appreciate knowing who your husband's family really slaughtered to build their empire."
With that, Vance turned on his heel, stepped back into the elevator, and allowed the doors to close, leaving the heavy red-wax envelope sitting ominously on the white marble.
