Isabella closed her laptop, her green eyes meeting his.
"Gallo's meeting tonight will be trouble," she said in a low voice, tucking her notepad into her portfolio. "He's not just hiding losses, he has allies among the casino managers."
Vincent nodded. "Keep digging," he told Isabella. "I want names, Gallo's allies, and also Navarro's contacts."
She gave a sharp nod, her heels clicking as she left. Her tailored dress was a brief glimpse of confidence and control.
Marco approached, still holding the tablet in his hand. "Security is watching Gallo's men," he said, calm and steady. "I've got extra eyes on the grounds. The lawyers will have the contracts finalized by tomorrow."
"Good," Vincent said, his mind already shifting. The system's screen flickered in his vision, reminding him of the daily tasks he had put off because of meetings.
"I'm stepping out for a workout. Keep the mansion locked down."
Marco's brow twitched, but he nodded. "I'll have a team nearby, sir."
As they walked to Vincent's bedroom, he recalled the Stardust Motel and instructed Marco to send people there to secure the business. It was another piece in the foundation of his new kingdom. Inside, he changed into black athletic gear before stepping outside.
The mansion's grounds stretched wide with manicured lawns, stone paths, and a perimeter of towering oaks. The afternoon sunlight was dim, casting long shadows. The winter air carried a faint chill, though Miami's warmth still lingered.
He liked it here, not like New York, where winter brought freezing winds and thick layers of snow. Miami felt different, lighter, the sky open, the air easier to breathe.
Vincent started with push-ups on the grass, his arms steady. Each rep grounded him, his breath controlled, his mind replaying the meeting. Gallo's defiance, Navarro's lie, each one a weakness he could mend or exploit.
Sit-ups followed. His core tightened with every movement as he counted each repetition. At two hundred, he stood, sweat beading on his brow, and began his run. Ten laps around the mansion, roughly two kilometers, the path winding past gardens and a marble fountain.
The first lap was effortless, his stamina carrying him forward. The second lap sharpened his focus, the city's noise fading as he settled into a rhythm.
By the third, he noticed movement near the oak-lined perimeter—three men in dark jackets. Marco's security, he thought at first, but their stance was off, too rigid, hands near their waists.
Vincent's senses heightened as he caught the glint of metal under one man's jacket. These were not his men, this was something else.
He kept his pace steady, his mind racing. The men hadn't spotted him yet. Their focus was on the mansion's rear entrance.
Gallo's men, he guessed. Just as Marco had warned.
On the fifth lap, Vincent veered closer, using the oaks for cover. The men were speaking in low voices. One gestured toward the mansion, another checked his phone.
Vincent caught pieces of their conversation. "... Gallo says tonight... new guy's weak... take him out..."
His blood ran cold. This wasn't a test, it was an ambush. Gallo was betting on Vincent's inexperience, sending men to kill him before the casino meeting.
Vincent's sixth lap brought him within twenty yards, close enough to see their faces. He slowed down, pretending to stretch while his mind worked fast. Taking on three armed men was a risk, even for him.
He pulled out his new phone, the one Marco had given him before today's meeting, and sent a quick text to the butler. Three men at the oaks, rear entrance. Not yours. Move now.
On the seventh lap, he circled wider, keeping the fountain between himself and the men. They hadn't moved, but one was now on the phone, nodding.
Then, Vincent noticed someone else. A fourth figure, near the fountain. A woman, brunette, dressed in black, watching the men. She wasn't with them, her posture too cautious.
His phone buzzed, probably Marco. He ignored it, starting the eighth lap, his eyes still on the woman. She met his gaze, recognized him, then disappeared behind the fountain.
Vincent's pulse quickened. He kept running, heading toward the mansion's side entrance.
On the ninth lap, Marco's actual security team stepped out from the east wing. Five men, moving quietly toward the oaks. The intruders spotted them and scattered, disappearing into the trees.
Vincent sprinted the final lap, reaching the entrance as muffled, suppressed shots rang out. He ducked inside, drawing a heavy breath. The system's screen flashed, announcing his daily task was complete. At least now, he wouldn't have to go out to run again.
[Daily Task Completed: Push-Ups, Sit-Ups, 2 km Run. Endurance Enhanced.]
Marco met him in the corridor, his expression serious. "We caught one, but the others escaped. Those weren't our men. Gallo's, I'd bet. Are you alright, sir?"
Vincent nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The woman near the fountain. Who was she?"
Marco frowned. "Woman? No one reported a woman."
Vincent felt unease settle in his stomach. The men were Gallo's, but the woman was something else. Maybe sent by another manager, or worse, someone outside the game.
"Double security for tonight," Vincent said, his voice firm. "And find out who is talking to Gallo. The meeting happens tonight."
Marco nodded but hesitated, his eyes reading Vincent's mood. Vincent turned and left for his room to shower.
***
Marco's grim expression softened when he saw Vincent heading to the dining room for dinner. "The captured man is talking. Small fry, hired by Gallo to scout you. He doesn't know about the woman. Security has been doubled, and we are sweeping the grounds."
Vincent's jaw tightened. "She saw me, Marco. And she recognized me. Find her."
Marco nodded, though there was hesitation in his glance. "I'll check the cameras, sir. The meeting with Gallo and the casino managers is at eight. Do you want it here or on neutral ground?"
"Here," Vincent said. "My turf, my rules."
His phone buzzed. It was from Isabella.
Gallo's allies—two casino managers, Ricci and Bell. Navarro is linked to a cartel, likely tied to the dock theft.
Vincent smirked slightly. He admired her sharp mind, as dangerous as her looks.
After dinner, he went to the study to prepare for the meeting. The mansion's oak-paneled room, lined with Moretti's old books and a crystal decanter, felt like a war room.
Isabella was already there, her laptop open, a stack of files beside her.
"You're early," she said, her green eyes flicking up. Her bun was slightly looser after the long day. "Good. Gallo is pushing for a twenty percent bigger cut, claiming his casinos are the backbone of the empire."
Vincent sat down and poured a glass of scotch. "The woman I saw, brunette, black outfit, by the fountain during my run. Who is she?"
Isabella frowned. "There was no report of a woman. Describe her."
"Mid-thirties, dark eyes, sharp features. She moved like she knew the grounds. She watched Gallo's men, then disappeared."
Isabella typed quickly, pulling up a file. "Sounds like Valentina Moreno. She was an associate of Moretti, handled his dock deals before they had a falling-out. If she is here, she is not with Gallo. She is watching you for someone else."
She slid a photo across the table. The same cold eyes, the same smooth presence.
Vincent felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Valentina Moreno.