Chapter 4 - The Boardroom ConfrontationThe executive offices of Cruz Enterprises occupied the top floor of a sleek, modern glass tower in South Boston—a stark contrast to the historic brick and stone of the North End.
Victor Cruz sat behind a massive glass desk, tossing a silver commemorative coin from side to side, a smug, arrogant grin plastered across his face. Across from him sat two of his top enforcers.
The heavy glass doors didn't knock open. They swung wide with a slow, deliberate creak.
Elias Baron walked in alone.
No army of enforcers. No shouting guards. Just a single man in a sharp black suit, his expression as cold and impassive as a tombstone.
Victor’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, leaning back in his leather chair. "Well, well. Elias Baron. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you finally decide to sell off those old warehouses on Hanover, or are you just lost on your way to a fashion shoot?"
Elias didn't sit down. He stopped five feet from the desk, pulling a Manila folder from inside his jacket and tossing it onto the glass surface. It slid across and stopped right in front of Victor’s hands.
"What’s this?" Victor scoffed, glancing down.
"Your eviction notice," Elias said smoothly.
Victor laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Eviction? Baron, my company owns this entire building. You don't have jurisdiction down here in Southie."
"Your company leases this building through three shell corporations," Elias replied, his voice dropping into that chilling, quiet register that made blood run cold. "Shell corporations funded by loans guaranteed by Valente Holdings. As of ten minutes ago, my CFO called every single note. Your accounts are frozen. Your assets are being seized. And the federal marshals are currently executing search warrants at your warehouse facilities for decades of extortion, tax evasion, and racketeering."
Victor leaped to his feet, his face turning an ugly shade of red. "You arrogant son of a bitch! You think you can just walk in here and ruin me over some waitress?"
Before Victor could finish his sentence, one of his enforcers drew a pistol from his waistband, raising it toward Elias.
It was a fatal mistake.
From the shadows beside the elevator bank, two of Elias’s men—who had slipped into the building undetected—moved with blinding, terrifying speed. In less than two seconds, the enforcer was slammed face-first into the glass wall, his weapon clattering across the floor, while the second guard was pinned in a chokehold with a pistol pressed firmly against the base of his skull.
Elias didn't even flinch. He didn't look at the gun, the guards, or the chaos. He kept his eyes locked entirely on Victor, who was now trembling behind his desk.
"She isn't just a waitress, Victor," Elias said, taking one slow step closer. "She’s the rightful heir to the North End docks you stole thirty years ago. And you laid hands on her inside my dining room."
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Victor swallowed hard, panic sweating through his collar. "Look... we can make a deal. Name your price! A percentage of the shipping lanes? Real estate? Whatever you want!"
"I already have everything I want," Elias said coldly. He turned and walked toward the door, pausing just at the threshold. "Tell the marshals to look in the basement safe. They’ll find the original ledgers you tried to hide. Have a nice stay in federal custody, Victor."
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