Chapter 2 - The Extraction
Marcus Vance stood in the center of Maison Étoile like a king claiming a conquered castle.
His men spread out quickly, blocking the main exits and placing their hands ominously inside their jackets.
Victoria sat back down in the booth, her face suddenly draining of all its arrogant color.
"You cannot simply walk into my restaurant and make demands, Marcus," Dominic said, remaining perfectly seated.
"I can when the law says you are trespassing on my legal property," Marcus laughed, pulling a folded document from his pocket.
It was an exact copy of the postwar treaty sitting on Dominic's table.
"My grandfather wrote the original lease, and it officially expired at midnight," Marcus explained with a wicked grin.
I slowly took a step backward, desperately trying to fade into the background and escape the impending violence.
Dominic's hand shot out with terrifying speed, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip.
"She stays," Dominic ordered, his eyes never leaving Marcus's face.
"A waitress is not going to save you from a federal injunction, Dominic," Marcus mocked, stepping closer to our booth.
"She is not a waitress, she is my new legal translator," Dominic stated smoothly.
He stood up, towering over the table, and pulled me flush against his side as if I were a protected asset.
"Victoria, go out through the kitchen exit and call our lawyers," Dominic instructed his wife without looking at her.
Victoria glared at me with absolute venom, but she knew better than to argue with her husband in front of an enemy.
She grabbed her designer purse and hurried away, leaving me entirely alone with two rival mafia bosses.
"You have twenty-four hours to vacate the docks, Russo, or my men will start burning your ships," Marcus threatened.
Dominic did not respond to the threat; he simply tightened his grip on my arm and pulled me toward the front door.
"Walk with me, and do not look back," he whispered in my ear as we pushed past Marcus's armed guards.
We stepped out into the freezing New York air, where his armored black SUV was waiting at the curb.
His driver opened the door, and Dominic shoved me into the luxurious leather backseat before climbing in beside me.
"Drive to the safehouse," Dominic barked at the driver, tapping the partition glass.
I clutched my apron, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as the car sped away from the restaurant.
"I just saved your empire from a legal blindside, so you need to let me go home," I demanded, trying to sound brave.
Dominic poured himself a drink from the car's minibar, his expression completely unreadable.
"You did not save my empire, Miss Miller, you just painted a massive target on your own back," he replied coldly.
He pointed a finger at the rearview mirror, and I turned my head to look out the back window.
Three unmarked black vans were speeding aggressively through the traffic, boxing our SUV in from all sides.
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"Marcus does not want to wait twenty-four hours," Dominic said calmly, pulling a heavy tactical rifle from beneath his seat.
Before I could even scream, the van on our left slammed violently into our passenger side door.
