Dominic’s dark eyes stayed locked on the faded paper trembling between his calloused fingers. The heavy mahogany chair groaned as it scraped against the polished floor behind him.
"Vance," Dominic whispered, the single syllable cutting through the silent boardroom like a blade.
Across the table, Charles went pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, catching on the rim of his designer glasses.
"Mr. Rossy, listen to me," Charles stammered, his polished demeanor cracking as he raised both hands in surrender. "Whatever that woman gave you is a fabrication meant to extort you."
Dominic didn’t even blink as he slowly raised his right hand. Two armed guards immediately stepped forward, their hands resting on the holsters beneath their tailored jackets.
"Vance was my father’s consigliere until five years ago," Dominic said, his voice dangerously quiet as he looked up at Mave. "He died in a border ambush that cost my family three million dollars."
"He didn’t die in an ambush, Mr. Rossy," Mave replied, keeping her posture steady despite the racing of her heart. "He was sold out by the man who handled the translations at the harbor that night."
She pointed a chapped, bleach-stained finger directly at Charles. The interpreter flinched as if she had aimed a loaded weapon at his chest.
"Look at the signature at the bottom of the wire transfer receipt," Mave instructed, stepping closer to the edge of the glass table. "Charles used his mother’s maiden name to collect the bounty from your rivals."
Gregory leaned forward, his heavy brows furrowing as he glanced rapidly between Dominic and the cleaning woman. He barked a sharp question in his native Eastern European dialect, demanding to know why the meeting had stalled.
Before Charles could open his mouth to spin another lie, Mave answered Gregory directly. Her tone was crisp, adopting the exact regional inflection of the mountain border town where Gregory had been raised.
"I told him to wait ten seconds while we take out the trash," Mave translated into English for Dominic’s benefit, never breaking eye contact with the foreign operator.
Gregory’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of reluctant respect replacing his earlier hostility. He slowly leaned back in his leather chair and folded his thick arms across his chest.
"Where did you get a bank ledger from a black-market clinic in Odesa?" Dominic asked, his gaze boring into Mave with terrifying intensity.
"I was cleaning the back rooms of that clinic the night Vance was brought in," Mave said softly, the memory still carrying the scent of antiseptic and rain. "He knew he wasn’t going to survive the night, so he made me swear to hide that paper until I found a Rossy."
"You’ve been working in my building for six months," Dominic noted, his jaw tightening as he processed the timeline. "Why wait until two in the morning on a Tuesday to hand this over?"
"Because six months ago, I didn’t know which one of your men was the traitor on that paper," she explained calmly. "And tonight, Charles wasn’t just stealing your money—he was trying to get your brother killed."
Dominic’s head snapped toward Charles so fast the air seemed to fracture. "My brother?"
"Tell him what Gregory actually said five minutes ago, Charles," Mave challenged, taking a step toward the trembling interpreter. "Tell him about the warehouse on Pier Four."
"She’s crazy!" Charles shouted, his voice pitching high as he backed away from the table. "She’s a janitor who picked up a few street phrases and thinks she can play power games!"
"Gregory didn’t ask for a price increase when he hit the table," Mave said, ignoring Charles entirely as she addressed Dominic. "He said your men at the pier are already surrounded, and if the original wire doesn’t clear by two-thirty, he’s burning the warehouse down with Matteo inside."
Dominic glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. It was 2:21 a.m.
"Why would Gregory threaten Matteo when I already agreed to his terms?" Dominic demanded, his hand dropping to the grip of the pistol concealed at his waist.
"Because Charles told him you refused to pay," Mave revealed, her voice ringing clear in the massive room. "Two minutes ago, Charles told Gregory in Russian that the Rossy family spits on his agreement and welcomes a war."
"You lying little rat," Dominic breathed, the color draining from his knuckles as he drew his weapon and leveled it at Charles’s chest.
"They offered me double!" Charles screamed, dropping to his knees as his composure completely disintegrated. "The cartel in Marseilles wanted you and Gregory to wipe each other out so they could take the shipping lanes!"
"And my brother was just collateral damage to you?" Dominic asked, stepping around the table like a predator closing in for the kill.
"I didn’t know Matteo was at the pier tonight, I swear it!" Charles sobbed, his hands clasping together in a desperate plea. "I was just supposed to stall the translation until two-thirty!"
Across the table, Gregory’s guards drew their weapons at the sight of Dominic’s gun. The metallic clicks of safeties disengaging echoed off the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Stop!" Mave commanded in Gregory’s dialect, raising her hands between the two factions before bloodshed could erupt.
She spoke rapidly, her words flowing like water as she explained Charles’s betrayal and the Marseilles cartel’s plot to manipulate both syndicates. Gregory listened intently, his sharp eyes darting from the weeping interpreter on the carpet to the ledger in Dominic’s hand.
"Ask him what he wants to call off the men at the pier," Dominic ordered Mave, keeping his gun trained squarely between Charles’s eyes.
Mave translated the question without a half-second of hesitation. Gregory stared at her for a long, agonizing moment before speaking a short, guttural sentence.
"He says he wants the original wire transfer completed in the next three minutes," Mave relayed, her eyes flicking to the wall clock. "And he wants the traitor handed over to him to prove your family had no part in the insult."
"Wait, no!" Charles shrieked, scrambling backward until his spine hit the glass wall overlooking the dark city. "Dominic, please, Gregory will skin me alive!"
Dominic didn’t even look down at the man who had betrayed his father’s best friend and endangered his brother. He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out his encrypted phone, and tapped three buttons.
"Tell him the money is moving right now," Dominic said to Mave, his voice as cold as winter iron. "And tell him he can take the garbage with him on his way out."
Mave translated the terms, her voice steady even as Charles whimpered behind her. Gregory’s phone buzzed on the table thirty seconds later, confirming the transfer had cleared.
With a satisfied nod, Gregory barked an order into his own receiver, calling off his men at Pier Four. He stood up, buttoned his coat, and gestured for his bodyguards to collect the screaming interpreter from the floor.
"You have a remarkable cleaner, Mr. Rossy," Gregory said in heavily accented English, pausing beside Mave to offer her a slight, respectful bow of his head. "If you ever fire her, send her to me."
"She isn’t going anywhere," Dominic replied flatly, watching as Gregory’s men dragged Charles toward the heavy double doors.
Within moments, the heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving only Dominic, his two silent guards, and Mave standing beside her yellow mop bucket. The silence returned, heavier than before, smelling of expensive cologne and lemon floor cleaner.
Mave slowly let out the breath she felt like she had been holding for twenty minutes. Bending down, she picked up her scrubbing brush and placed it neatly inside her tattered canvas bag.
"I’ll finish the hallway outside and clock out early, Mr. Rossy," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the carpet as she reached for the handle of her cart. "You won’t have to worry about me talking to anyone about tonight."
"Leave the bucket," Dominic said, walking back to the head of the table and setting his gun down on the glass.
Mave froze, her hand hovering inches above the plastic handle. "Sir, I need this job to pay my rent."
"You speak eight languages, you outmaneuvered an international arms dealer, and you just saved my brother’s life," Dominic said, pulling out a leather chair and gesturing toward it. "You’re done scrubbing floors, Mave."
She slowly straightened up, looking at the mafia boss with cautious skepticism. "I don’t want to be part of your criminal empire, Mr. Rossy."
"I have twelve legitimate shipping companies that lose millions every year because of bad contracts and corrupt translators," Dominic countered, a faint trace of respect softening his harsh features. "I need someone who listens when people think nobody is paying attention."
He picked up the faded ledger from Odesa and held it out toward her. "Name your price."
Mave looked at the mop bucket that had defined her life for the past six years, and then back at the most dangerous man in the city. For the first time since she had walked into the boardroom, a small, confident smile touched her lips.
"Whatever you were paying Charles," she said, stepping away from the cleaning cart and pulling back the leather chair. "Doubled."
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