"Why was she watching me?" Vincent asked, wondering why the woman handled the job herself. Was it because she was skilled in fighting?
"The docks," Isabella said. "Navarro's theft wasn't random. The cartel is hitting our shipments, testing Moretti's absence. You're the new factor. They want to see if you're weak."
Vincent took a sip of scotch. "Then we use her," he said. "Find her. I want a meeting, not a fight."
Isabella's lips curved slightly, approving. "Bold. I'll dig into her contacts. For now, focus on Gallo. He's loud, but his losses make him desperate. Push him and he'll crack."
Vincent nodded, dismissing her.
Alone, he studied Valentina's photo. There was something in her gaze that caught his attention. She wasn't an ordinary woman, but Vincent couldn't quite describe what set her apart.
The system's screen flickered.
[New Objective: Secure Casino Operations. Deadline: 48 Hours.]
He scowled and shoved it aside. The system kept assigning him tasks, each one adding to the burden. "At least if this actually helps me get my revenge," he muttered.
***
At eight, the casino managers arrived. Gallo, Ricci, and Bell were ushered into the mansion's living room. Vincent sat on a luxurious sofa, holding a glass of scotch. Marco stood behind him while Isabella sat to his right, her laptop open.
The lawyers, including Carter, waited in the study. They weren't needed for this discussion.
Gallo, stocky and red-faced, led the trio. His tie was loose, his expression defiant. Ricci, lean and graying, fidgeted. Bell, the youngest, kept his gaze down.
Vincent, dressed in a light blue polo shirt and black pants, observed them as they sat across from him.
"Vincent," Gallo started, skipping any formalities. "Casinos are the heart of this city. We're bleeding. Bad bets, cops circling. Moretti gave us thirty percent of the take. We want fifty, or we walk."
Vincent leaned back, shaking the ice in his glass. His voice was calm. "You're bleeding because you're sloppy. Skimming, losing bets, pissing off the wrong players. You don't get fifty. You fix your mess, or you're out."
Gallo's face darkened. "You need us. Without casinos, your empire is nothing."
Vincent noticed Ricci's nervous twitch, Bell's shallow breath.
He stood, pacing to the decanter, pouring a glass of scotch he no longer cared to drink. "I need winners, Tony. You think you can walk? Try it. I'll have new managers by dawn."
Ricci coughed, breaking the silence. "We're not walking, Mr. Vincent. Tony's frustrated. We'll work with you, but we need support. Cops, debts, the usual."
Vincent glanced at Isabella. She had already marked Ricci as the weak link.
"Support comes when I see numbers," he said. "Clean books, no skimming. Prove it, and I'll handle the cops."
Bell nodded quickly, but Gallo smirked and leaned forward. "Big talk for a guy who nearly got clipped today."
Vincent froze, his hand tightening around the glass. Gallo knew about the attack.
Marco tensed, ready to speak, but Vincent waved him off and stepped closer to Gallo. "You sent those men, didn't you, Tony? Bad move. One is talking, and he has your name."
Gallo's smirk faltered. "You have no proof."
"I don't need it," Vincent said in a low voice. "Cross me again and you're finished. Not just out, but gone. Understand?"
Gallo swallowed, nodding stiffly. Ricci and Bell exchanged uneasy glances. The room was silent, except for Isabella's steady typing as she kept her gaze locked on Gallo.
The three men left, their steps heavy, ending the meeting with terse agreements—clean books, no more demands.
As the room cleared, Marco lowered his voice. "Security found a lead on the woman. Valentina Moreno was spotted at a dockside bar. She's meeting someone tonight."
Vincent frowned. Valentina was connected to Navarro's cartel, maybe to Gallo's desperation.
"Set it up," he told Marco. "I want her at that bar. Alone."
Marco nodded, but Isabella lingered. "Careful, Vincent. Valentina isn't Gallo. She plays long games. You're good, but she's better."
Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Then I'll learn fast."
***
Vincent stepped out of the black SUV into the humid Miami night. Ocean Drive's neon lights flickered in the distance, clashing with the dockside's worn-down streets. The bar, a low-slung dive called El Tiburón, sat near the port, its neon shark sign buzzing unevenly.
Valentina Moreno was inside, Marco's intel confirmed. She was meeting someone, maybe Navarro's contact.
Five of Vincent's security men trailed him, scanning the surroundings. Marco and Brad flanked him on each side.
"She's at a corner booth," Brad, the head of security, said in a low voice. "Alone, so far. My men are at the exits, but this place is cartel territory. Watch your back."
Vincent nodded, catching the salty tang of seawater, the faint clink of glasses inside.
El Tiburón was dim and smoky, with a jukebox blaring salsa. Dockworkers and rough types crowded the bar, but Vincent's focus locked onto Valentina Moreno.
She sat in the corner, brunette hair loose, a black leather jacket over a fitted red dress. Her curves were understated but striking. A glass of tequila sat untouched in front of her. She scanned the room until her gaze landed on Vincent.
She gave no sign of surprise, only a small nod, as if she had expected him.
Vincent approached, sliding into the booth opposite her. His men stayed by the bar, watching.
"Valentina," Vincent said, keeping his voice steady. "You were at my mansion today. Care to explain?"
Her lips curled slightly, a predator's smile. "Vincent Mercer," she said, her accent light. "Moretti's heir, or so the papers say. I was just curious. New blood draws sharks. You know that."
She picked up her tequila, never breaking eye contact.
"You're with the cartel. You hit my docks, stole my crates. Are you testing me?"
Valentina's smile didn't fade. "Your docks? They were Moretti's, and he owed us. Shipments, routes, favors. He's gone, and you… well, you're unproven. My bosses want to know if you'll honor the deal or start a war."
Vincent processed her words. Navarro's thefts, his nervous twitch during the meeting—it wasn't just sloppiness. It was cartel pressure.
"I don't want war," he said. "Tell me the terms."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Half the dock profits, exclusive routes for our product. You keep the rest, and the cops stay blind. Moretti agreed to these terms. It was a smart deal."
Vincent clenched his jaw. Half was robbery, but refusing meant blood. "I'll consider it," he said, buying time. "Who's your contact here? Navarro?"
Valentina laughed, low and sharp. "Navarro? He's a pawn. He jumps at his own shadow. My contact is closer to you, Vincent. Someone you trust."
Her eyes gleamed, daring him to figure it out.