0025 ~ Vincent ~ “What is the purpose of assigning a personal maid to me?” Elodie asked, her eyes moving rapidly between me and the newcomer.
“To provide assistance,” I replied flatly, taking a slow sip of my coffee.
“Her name is Rebecca Crane,” Luca intervened, breaking the sudden tension.
I turned my attention to the young woman, observing the steady manner in which she held herself.
“Where are you from, Rebecca?” “Brooklyn, sir,” she answered, her voice firm and without tremor.
I glanced back toward my guard to confirm the background checks.
“Are the credentials verified, Luca?” “I have personally reviewed her history and references, boss,” Luca assured me with a firm nod.
“Everything is entirely in order.” I nodded, turning back to face the young woman.
“This is Elodie Lockwood.
You will serve as her personal attendant from this day forward.
Whatever task she sets before you, you will execute it immediately.
Any failure to comply with her directions or the security protocols of this estate will result in your immediate and permanent dismissal.
Do I make myself clear?” “Perfectly clear, sir,” Rebecca stated, dipping into a polite, professional bow.
“I will do my absolute best to fulfill any request Mrs.
Lockwood requires.” “Good,” I said, casting a final glance toward Elodie, who was practically vibrating with silent rage.
“She is your responsibility now.” I pushed my plate aside, having finished my breakfast, and stood up from the head of the table.
I caught Luca’s eye, gesturing toward the doors to signal our departure.
“Wait, hold on a moment!” Elodie’s voice rang out across the hall, sharp and demanding.
I stopped, pinching the bridge of my nose as a heavy breath escaped my lips.
“What is it now, Elodie?” “You cannot simply insert a stranger into my daily life and force them to work under me without even bothering to ask for my consent,” she argued, her fingers gripping the edge of the mahogany table.
I turned fully to face her, letting a thin, cold smile touch my lips as I arched a single brow.
“Since when did I begin consulting you or requiring your permission to manage the affairs of my own household?” She opened her mouth to shoot back a retort, but the words died in her throat.
She remained completely silent, her gaze falling back to the floorboards.
“That is exactly what I thought,” I noted smoothly.
“I am leaving for the day.” Without waiting for another response, I walked out of the grand dining hall, Luca following a half-step behind me.
Randall was already waiting in the circular driveway, the engine of the black limousine purring quietly against the morning chill as he held the rear door open.
Once we settled into the leather seats and the vehicle cleared the estate gates, Luca opened his briefing folder.
We spent the next several hours navigating the city blocks, making quiet, somber visits to the residences of the ten men who had lost their lives due to Vicky Stonewall carelessness.
At each stop, I personally met with the grieving families, delivering ten million dollars in compensation to ensure their absolute silence and financial stability.
It was an expensive necessity to maintain the family name.
By the time the final transaction was completed, the sun had passed its peak.
I leaned back against the headrest.
“Take us back to the corporate headquarters, Randall.
The underground level.” The vehicle arrived at the central facility twenty minutes later, slipping down the hidden ramp into the private parking garage.
Deep below the corporate offices lay the secure holding cells—a concrete bunker designed specifically for individuals who posed an active threat to the Lockwood family interests.
It was here that I handled the unpleasant task of interrogation.
I strode down the damp corridor, the heavy security gates unlocking automatically as I approached the cell containing the shooter from the docks.
The man was slumped on the cold concrete floor, a clean white bandage wrapped tightly around the shoulder where my bullet had torn through him.
I had explicitly ordered the medical staff to patch him up just enough to ensure he wouldn’t expire during my session.
He sat with his head tilted back against the wall, his eyelids firmly shut as if he were lost in deep meditation.
“Reciting your final prayers?” I spoke up, the sound of my voice bouncing off the bare walls.
The shooter’s eyes fluttered open, dark and defiant, tracking me as I stepped into his field of vision.
I unbuttoned my suit coat, sliding it off my shoulders and tossing it to Luca, who caught it effortlessly.
Slowly, I began rolling the starched white sleeves of my shirt up past my forearms.
A guard wheeled a metal utility cart into the center of the room, its surface holding a neatly arranged selection of tools.
I reached down, pulling a pair of leather driving gloves over my hands, adjusting the fit until the leather sat snugly against my knuckles.
I nodded to the guard, who immediately unlocked the iron cell door.
I stepped inside, squatting down until I was at eye level with the bound man.
“Do you comprehend exactly why you are sitting in this cell?” The shooter remained entirely silent, his jaw clamped shut.
“You are here because your little display at the harbor disrupted my business operations and nearly cost me my people,” I said, keeping my tone deceptively conversational.
“Who exactly was your intended target?
Who sent you?” Still, the man refused to offer a single syllable.
“It appears you are the type who prefers to endure a penalty before speaking,” I murmured, a slow smile stretching across my face.
“Which suits me perfectly.
I consider this a personal pastime.” I stood up, stepping back over to the metal cart.
My fingers brushed past several implements before settling on the heavy grip of a combat dagger.
I lifted the weapon, testing the balance of the steel before returning to the kneeling man.
“For the absolute last time,” I whispered, my voice dropping into a dangerous register.
“Who authorized the contract, and who were you trying to eliminate?” “Go straight to hell,” he spat out, his voice raspy.
“Why bother traveling there,” I countered softly, “when I can simply bring the fire directly to you?” With a swift, practiced motion, I drove the blade deep into his thigh.
A choked, agonizing scream erupted from his throat, the sound echoing violently off the concrete walls.
A dark crimson spray instantly coated the front of my shirt and splashed across my face, but my expression never flickered.
The sound of his agony was nothing more than white noise to me.
I twisted the handle slightly before pulling the steel free from his flesh.
The man slumped sideways, his breathing turning into ragged wheezes.
I pulled a linen handkerchief from my pocket, calmly wiping the warm fluid from my cheek and forehead.
“Who.
Sent.
You?” I demanded, punctuating every single word.
“And who was the target?” “Fuck you,” he groaned, his head lolling against his shoulder.
“Wrong answer,” I murmured.
I drove the blade down a second time into the exact same wound, causing him to let out another sharp yelp.
Before the sound could fully escape, I stuffed the bloodied handkerchief deep into his mouth, muffling his agonizing cries into low, desperate grunts.
By the time I finished the interrogation an hour later, the man was entirely limp, his chin resting against his chest, completely spent.
I stood up, unstrapping the leather gloves from my hands and tossing them onto the blood-stained cart.
My white shirt was thoroughly ruined, dark spots soaking through the fabric, mirroring the state of the concrete floor.
Despite the severity of the session, he hadn’t broken.
“We will resume this conversation later,” I told the guard, grabbing a clean rag to wipe the remaining grease from my fingers.
“Perhaps tonight, provided my schedule allows for it.
Have the medical staff tend to his leg wounds immediately.
I need him to possess enough stamina to survive the next round.” “Right away, boss,” the guard replied, bowing his head.
I stepped out of the cell just as Luca approached, holding my dark wool coat open for me.
“Boss, the research team just finished compiling the files regarding Mrs.
Lockwood’s former fiancé.” I slid my arms into the sleeves, adjusting the collar as we walked toward the heavy security elevator that would take us back up to the main executive floors.
“Excellent timing,” I noted, a cold spark of curiosity finally cutting through the residual adrenaline of the interrogation.
“Let’s head directly to my office to review the data.” It was time to see exactly what kind of man Elodie had been planning to give her life to.