Chapter 3 - The Declaration of War
Vincent stood up instantly, his gentle aura vanishing as the icy commander returned. "What did Julian DeMarco tell the media?"
Marco pulled out a tablet, tapping the screen and handing it to Vincent. "He claims that you lured Vivian to Belladonna House under false pretenses, assaulted her with a weapon, and forced her out into the freezing sleet to cover up an illegal money-laundering scheme. He also released a cropped photo of Miss Vance holding the broken wine glass, claiming she is an undercover operative sent by a rival gang to assassinate Vivian."
"That's a complete lie!" I yelled, throwing off the duvet and standing up, completely forgetting that I was wearing only a silk robe. "She tripped over her own dress! I didn't attack anyone!"
Vincent glanced at me, his eyes momentarily lingering on my silhouette against the ambient firelight before he quickly snapped his gaze back to Marco. "Has the Police Commissioner responded?"
"Commissioner Hayes is staying neutral for now, but the DeMarcofactions are mobilizing near the docks," Marco said grimly. "Julian DeMarco has offered a two-million-dollar bounty on Miss Vance's head. He wants her captured alive so they can force her to sign a confession framing you for treason within the Syndicate Council."
Two million dollars.
My head spun. I was a broke twenty-four-year-old girl who counted quarters to buy groceries, and now there was a multi-million-dollar price tag on my head.
"They think she's weak," Vincent muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "They think because she's a working-class girl with no family backing, she's an easy pawn to knock over on the chessboard."
Vincent turned back to me. His eyes swept over my body, taking in my pale face, my firm posture, and the defiance still burning in my dark eyes despite the absolute horror of the situation.
"Clara," Vincent said, walking up to me. "I am going to give you a choice. I can put you on a private jet tonight under a fake passport and send you to a secure villa in Switzerland. You will be safe, comfortable, and you will never have to see me or this city again."
I narrowed my eyes. "And option two?"
"Option two," Vincent said, a dangerous flame igniting in his dark eyes, "you stay right here by my side. We fight the DeMarcos together. We prove to this entire city that the Vance family cannot be crushed, and that anyone who dares lay a hand on you will face the full wrath of the Moretti Syndicate."
I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding like a hammer against my ribs.
Ever since my mother died, I had been running. I ran from cruel foster parents, I ran from corrupt landlords, I ran from predatory bosses who thought a plus-size girl without money should be grateful for their unwanted attention. I was tired of running. I was tired of being treated like an invisible ghost or a helpless victim.
I looked at Vincent. "If I stay... I'm not hiding in a gilded cage. I want to help bring them down."
Vincent’s lips curled into a true, genuine smile—a breathtaking sight that transformed his harsh, ruthless features into something striking and devastatingly handsome.
"Deal," Vincent said softly. "Marco, call the tailor. We need to prepare Miss Vance for tomorrow night's Syndicate Emergency Summit."
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"Sir?" Marco looked shocked. "The Summit? But only high-ranking syndicate bosses and their spouses are allowed into the Grand Casino Vault!"
"Then it's a good thing," Vincent said, keeping his eyes locked onto mine, "that Clara Vance is about to become the most important person in this city."
