Chapter 4 - The Dinner Table War
The formal dining room of the Kane manor was designed to intimidate. A thirty-foot oak table sat beneath a crystal chandelier, surrounded by portraits of Kane ancestors dating back to the late nineteenth century.
Sitting at the far end was Julian Moretti. He was thirty-two, slicked-back dark hair, wearing a flashy Italian suit that screamed arrogance. Four armed bodyguards stood behind his chair, their arms folded, jackets bulging suspiciously.
Adrian sat at the head of the table. I sat to his right, a digital tablet balanced on my knee, acting as the official recorder of the proceedings.
“You brought a secretary to a council meeting, Kane?” Julian drawled, taking a slice of prosciutto from the charcuterie board without asking. “I thought we were discussing real business.”
“Maya is my Chief of Staff,” Adrian replied, his tone icy and detached. “She holds full signing authority for the Kane estate. Speak to her with the respect her position demands, or I will have Marco remove your tongue.”
Julian’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the antique table.
“Let’s cut the theater, Adrian,” Julian sneered. “Red Hook Pier 42 belongs to the Moretti family now. Your shipments are backed up. Your logistics network is failing without your mother here to grease the union bosses. And word on the street is you spent your morning playing house with a six-year-old orphan.”
I saw the muscle in Adrian’s jaw tighten—the only tell that Julian had crossed a lethal line.
“My family’s affairs are not your concern, Julian,” Adrian said softly.
“They are when your little boy starts running his mouth in public,” Julian laughed, leaning back. “My men at Kane Enterprises heard the whole thing. The kid was begging your secretary to be his mommy. How sad is that? The great Adrian Kane, so desperate for a woman he lets his bastard child cry in the hallways.”
Clack.
I stood up so fast my mahogany chair scraped sharply against the floorboards.
The room went dead silent. Julian’s bodyguards immediately shifted their weight, their hands drifting toward their waistbands. Marco and three Kane enforcers stationed at the doors drew their suppressed weapons in a single, synchronized motion.
Julian looked at me, an amused eyebrow raised. “Something to say, sweetheart?”
I tapped my tablet screen twice, turning the display toward Julian.
“At 4:12 PM today,” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a silver blade, “the Waterfront Commission seized three shipping containers registered to Moretti Imports at the Newark terminal. Inside were four hundred unregistered automatic firearms and two million dollars in undeclared bearer bonds.”
Julian’s face went completely pale. “What?”
“I executed the reporting protocol thirty minutes ago,” I continued smoothly, stepping closer to the table. “Using the legal authority granted to me as Chief of Staff, I tipped off the federal task force using your personal IP signature, which my department obtained when you logged onto our guest Wi-Fi two minutes after entering this property.”
Julian stood up, knocking his glass over, red wine spilling across the white linen tablecloth like fresh blood. “You little bitch—!”
He made a move toward me, but he didn't even make it two inches.
Adrian was off his chair in a blur of terrifying speed. He grabbed Julian by the throat, slamming him face-first onto the oak table with enough force to rattle the heavy chandelier above. Glass shattered. Julian gasped for air, his face turning purple under the crushing grip of Adrian’s hand.
“Touch her, or speak about my son again,” Adrian growled, his voice vibrating with pure, murderous fury, “and I will bury you under the concrete at Pier 42 before the sun rises.”
Julian’s bodyguards froze, staring down the barrels of Marco’s silenced submachine guns.
“Tell your father,” Adrian whispered into Julian’s ear, pressing his face harder into the spilled wine, “that the Kane family does not negotiate with amateur thieves. The peace pact is officially over.”
Adrian shoved Julian backward. The younger man stumbled, coughing violently, clutching his neck as his guards rushed to support him.
“Get out,” Adrian commanded.
Julian glared at us, his eyes filled with toxic hatred. “You think you’ve won, Kane? Look at your secretary. She just put a target on her back. My father will burn this whole city to get to her!”
“Let him try,” Adrian said coldly.
Julian and his men retreated, their hurried footsteps fading down the grand hallway until the front doors slammed shut.
Adrian turned to me. His chest was heaving slightly, his suit jacket wrinkled, his eyes wild with lingering adrenaline. He looked at me—not as a boss looking at an employee, but as a predator looking at the only person who had ever dared to step into his fire.
“That was highly irregular, Miss Carter,” he breathed, stepping toward me.
May you like
“It was effective, Mr. Kane,” I replied, my chin held high despite the wild pounding of my heart.
He reached out, cupping the back of my neck, and pulled me into him. Before I could catch my breath, his lips crashed onto mine in a fierce, possessive kiss that consumed everything in its path.
