Chapter 12
The Hand That Wore the Ring
As I reached my car parked in the private VIP lot, a dark sedan pulled up silently beside me.
The rear door slid open.
A man stepped out into the shadows.
It wasn't a federal agent.
It wasn't one of Miller’s men.
It was Viktor Vance, the ruthless rival mob boss who had attended our anniversary dinner.
He held a silver revolver loosely at his side.
“Impressed, Mrs. Calloway,” Viktor said, his voice a smooth, gravelly purr.
“You destroyed Graham in three weeks. Even I couldn't have done it cleaner.”
I didn't flinch.
I rested my hand on my car door handle.
“What do you want, Viktor?”
“Graham owed me five million dollars in unfulfilled shipments,” Viktor said, stepping closer.
“And since the feds seized all his assets, I figured the debt rolls over to his widow.”
I let out a cold laugh.
“You think I’m going to pay my ex-husband’s debts?”
“I think you’re smart enough to realize accidents happen on these docks every night,” Viktor replied, raising the gun barrel by an inch.
“Just like your father’s accident.”
That was a mistake.
Mentioning my father was his death sentence.
Before Viktor could pull the trigger, the shadows behind him erupted into motion.
Detective Miller stepped out of the darkness, pressing the barrel of a shotgun directly against the back of Viktor’s neck.
“Drop the gun, Viktor,” Miller growled.
“Or I’ll blow your spine through your ribs.”
Three federal marshals emerged from behind the surrounding cars, their tactical lights blinding Viktor in an instant.
Viktor froze.
He let the revolver drop to the asphalt with a metallic clatter.
“You walk into traps very easily, Viktor,” I said, stepping right up to him.
“Must be a habit among men who think women are just decorations.”
Miller kicked the gun away and slammed handcuffs onto Viktor’s wrists.
May you like
“Federal custody, Viktor,” Miller muttered.
“You’re going away for a very long time.”
