Chapter 6 - The Spider's Web
The SEC agents dragged Edmund Ashford out of the boardroom in handcuffs, his screams of protest echoing down the executive corridor until the elevator doors swallowed him whole.
Salvatore Valenti didn't scream. He straightened his tailored coat, adjusted his diamond cufflinks, and stared at Nico with cold, reptilian calculation.
“You think this is a victory, boy?” Valenti said, his voice low, raspy from decades of cigars. “You gave the feds a broken pawn. Edmund was nothing. A weak, greedy little man who couldn't even control his own household. But the docks belong to me. The city belongs to me. You’ve just signed a death warrant for your company—and for your new little bride.”
Nico didn't flinch. He walked over to Valenti, his height dwarfing the older mobster, his posture radiating unyielding dominance.
“Your docks are currently surrounded by three tactical units of the United States Coast Guard, Valenti,” Nico said smoothly, glancing at his Rolex. “As of ten minutes ago, my logistics systems handed over the complete manifest codes for every single uninspected container sitting in Terminal 4. Your shipment of illegal heavy weaponry from the Balkans is being seized as we speak.”
Valenti’s jaw twitched. For a fraction of a second, genuine shock cracked his stony facade.
“Get out of my tower,” Nico commanded quietly. “Before I decide to let Lev handle you the way you handled my brother.”
Valenti held Nico’s gaze for three agonizing seconds, then turned on his heel and strode out of the boardroom, his two bodyguards scrambling to keep up.
The moment the doors clicked shut, the heavy silence of the room collapsed around us. The board members sat frozen, terrified to speak, terrified to breathe.
“The board meeting is adjourned,” Nico announced without looking at them. “Lev, escort the board out. Nora, come with me.”
He led me through his private office to a secluded terrace that looked out over the skyline. The cool autumn wind whipped around us, pulling loose strands of my hair from the chignon. My knees suddenly gave out, the adrenaline draining from my body all at once.
Before I hit the stone floor, Nico’s arms were around me.
He caught me effortlessly, lifting me against his chest and carrying me over to an outdoor lounge chair. He knelt on the stone before me, holding my trembling hands between his warm palms.
“Breathe, Nora,” he said gently. “It’s over. He’s in custody. He will never touch you again.”
“It’s not over,” I choked out, tears finally breaking past my lashes, spilling over my cheeks. “You don't understand who Valenti is. He doesn't play by the rules of the law or corporate boardrooms. He tried to kill your brother on an open highway. If he loses his shipment, he will burn down everything you care about. He will come after you.”
Nico reached up, his thumb wiping the tears from my cheeks, his touch burning with a tenderness that completely contradicted the monster he had been moments ago in the boardroom.
“Let him come,” Nico said softly, looking deep into my eyes. “I spent my entire life building an empire to protect my family. Marco is in a safe house guarded by the best private security money can buy. And you... you are right here with me.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper against the roaring wind. “You married me for revenge. You married me to punish my father.”
Nico was silent for a long moment. His dark eyes searched mine, stripping away the defenses I had spent twelve years building.
“I thought I did,” Nico admitted, his voice raw. “When I stood in that chapel, I wanted to break Edmund Ashford by taking the one thing he claimed to value. But the moment you took off that dress... the moment I saw what you had survived, I realized Edmund never valued you. He was terrified of you. Because you were the only person alive who had the courage to face him.”
He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against mine.
“You aren't a transaction, Nora. You never were. And I will burn this entire city to the ground before I let anyone put another scar on your body.”
Before I could reply, the heavy glass door of the terrace slid open. Lev stood in the frame, his face pale and tight with urgent dread.
May you like
“Boss,” Lev said, his voice strained. “We have a critical problem. The federal convoy transporting Edmund Ashford to the Metropolitan Detention Center was ambushed on the Brooklyn Bridge. Edmund didn't make it to prison. Salvatore Valenti’s men took him.”
***
