Chapter 6 - Shadows Defeated
While peace reigned inside DeLuca House, the fallout from Christmas Eve sent shockwaves through New York’s business and underworld circles.
Richard Mercer’s real estate firm collapsed within forty-eight hours. His creditors, realizing the DeLuca protection had been pulled, moved in like vultures. By early January, the Mercer mansion in the Hamptons was put up for court auction, and Vivian Mercer found herself living in a modest rented apartment in New Jersey, abandoned by her high-society friends.
Desperate and bitter, Vivian tried one last gamble.
She arranged a secret meeting with Marcus Vance—the loan shark whose network had been crushed by Roman’s legal enforcement team.
In a dimly lit diner outside Newark, Vivian sat across from Vance, her designer clothes rumpled, her face pale and sharp with desperation.
"He ruined us, Marcus," Vivian hissed, leaning over the table. "He destroyed my father, he embarrassed me publicly, and all for a fat, pathetic kitchen maid. You lost millions when he wiped out your debt portfolios. Help me destroy him."
Marcus Vance cut a piece of cheap diner steak, chewing slowly as he looked at her with cold, unimpressed eyes. "Destroy Roman DeLuca? Are you insane, lady?"
"We don't have to attack him directly!" Vivian pleaded. "The maid’s sister is staying at Harbor Ridge. If we take the sister—"
Before Vance could answer, the door of the diner chimed.
Four men in immaculate dark suits stepped inside. They didn't draw weapons; they simply took positions at the front counter and the back exits.
The booth behind Vivian creaked as a tall, muscular man in a dark grey suit slid into the seat directly behind her. It was Marco—Roman’s chief lieutenant.
Vivian went pale, her tongue freezing in her mouth.
"Ms. Mercer," Marco said calmly, his deep voice carrying over the top of the booth. "Mr. DeLuca figured you might come looking for Mr. Vance."
Marcus Vance immediately put his hands on the table, palms up. "I didn't agree to anything, Marco. You know me. I'm just eating my dinner."
"Smart man, Marcus," Marco said. "That's why your ticket out of the country leaves from JFK in three hours. One-way to South America. If you ever set foot in the tri-state area again, Mr. DeLuca won't send lawyers."
Vance didn't hesitate. He stood up, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and walked out without looking back.
Vivian sat frozen, her hands shaking violently against her handbag.
Marco turned his head slightly, speaking to the back of her hair. "As for you, Ms. Mercer. Mr. DeLuca wanted me to give you a message."
He slid a small envelope onto her table. Inside was a flight itinerary to a small town in northern Canada, along with a modest monthly stipend trust document.
"Your father’s remaining personal debts have been settled under one condition," Marco explained flatly. "You leave New York tonight. You stay in Canada. You never speak the name Claire Bennett or Roman DeLuca again. If you try to contact the press, if you try to approach the estate, or if you so much as look toward Connecticut... the police will receive the full financial audit of your father's wire fraud schemes. You will spend twenty years in a federal prison."
Vivian stared at the envelope. Tears of rage and defeat spilled down her face.
May you like
She had lost everything—her status, her wealth, her fiancé, and her freedom. All because she had underestimated a quiet woman with a soft heart and a boss who loved her.
"Have a safe flight, Ms. Mercer," Marco said quietly, standing up and leaving the diner with his men.
