Chapter 5 - Desperate Measures
Across Biscayne Bay, in the penthouse suite of the St. Regis Bal Harbour, Vanessa Hart was not packing her bags.
She was pacing the wraparound balcony, a crystal tumbler of vodka trembling in her manicured hand. The rain had cleared, leaving the neon skyline of Miami glittering against the black water like scattered diamonds.
Sitting at the glass patio table behind her was Hector Delgado.
Delgado was a man whom even the most ruthless men in South Florida spoke of in lowered voices. Unlike Alexander Cole, who operated under a strict, old-world code of honor and selective violence, Delgado was a butcher. He ran the northern drug corridors through the port of Jacksonville, and for five years, Alexander Cole had kept him completely locked out of Miami’s maritime terminals.
“He threatened my father,” Vanessa hissed, turning toward Delgado, her eyes wild with vindictive fury. “He threatened to have federal agents raid our customs containers. He threw me out of his house for a *nanny*, Hector! A pathetic, penniless orphan who wipes his kid’s snot!”
Delgado took a slow drag from a slender cigar, the orange ember illuminating the jagged scar that ran from his ear to his collarbone. He chuckled, a deep, raspy sound that made Vanessa’s skin prickle.
“Alexander Cole is slipping,” Delgado said in his thick Colombian cadence. “Five years ago, Cole would have put a bullet in Marcus’s head just for raising his voice in his foyer. Now? He makes threats. He talks about labor strikes and customs raids. The widower has gone soft.”
“He isn't soft,” Vanessa snapped, taking a frantic sip of vodka. “He’s obsessed with her! I saw the way he looked at her. If you want to break Alexander Cole, you don't go after his bank accounts. You don't go after his docks. You take the woman. You take the boy.”
Delgado leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glass table. His dark eyes glittered with predatory interest. “Cole’s compound on Star Island is a fortress. Private security, motion sensors, steel-reinforced gates. Taking anyone off that property is suicide.”
Vanessa smiled, a cruel, venomous smirk that stretched the makeup around her lips.
“Star Island is a fortress,” she agreed, reaching into her designer clutch and pulling out a slender silver keycard and a slip of paper with a handwritten six-digit code. “Unless someone gives you the bypass frequency for the marina perimeter.”
Delgado looked at the keycard, then up at Vanessa. “How did you get this?”
“I was engaged to him for six months, Hector,” Vanessa said bitterly. “Margaret Cole gave me the master overrides so I could let the interior designers in without dealing with his security chief. The codes haven't been updated since yesterday.”
Delgado picked up the keycard, turning it over in his rough, scarred fingers. “And what do you want in exchange for this, Vanessa?”
“I want the nanny dead,” Vanessa spat, her voice dripping with pure hatred. “I don't care what you do with Alexander. I don't care if you bleed him dry for his port access. But Grace Miller dies. I want her to understand that she was nothing. Just a piece of trash that stepped into a queen’s throne.”
Delgado smiled, his gold tooth catching the moonlight. “A fair trade. Tomorrow night, Alexander Cole will discover what happens when you turn your back on the wolves.”
***
Meanwhile, on Star Island, the Cole estate had settled into an uneasy, breathless calm.
It was two o'clock in the morning. I was sitting at the kitchen island, a pot of black coffee brewing on the counter, going through security manifests on a tablet.
A quiet creak of floorboards made me look up.
Grace stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wrapped in an oversized navy cardigan that belonged to me—she had borrowed it hours ago when the chill of the storm penetrated the living room. Her feet were bare, her hair falling in soft, tumbled waves over her shoulders.
“You’re still awake,” she said softly, walking over to the counter.
“I don't sleep much when the perimeter lights are on,” I said, setting the tablet aside.
She reached for a mug, pouring herself a cup of hot chamomile tea. “Noah is sleeping like an angel. He told me before he fell asleep that you promised the mean lady wouldn't come back.”
“I keep my promises to my son.”
Grace leaned against the marble island, holding the warm mug with both hands. She looked at me over the rim, her hazel eyes searching mine with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“And the promise you made to me?” she asked quietly.
I stood up, closing the distance between us until she had to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. I reached out, my fingers curling around the back of her neck, feeling the delicate flutter of her pulse.
“I have kept men alive or ended their lives based on my word, Grace,” I told her, my voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “When I told you that no one would ever hurt you again, that was not an empty boast. It was a vow.”
Grace set her mug down on the counter with a soft clatter. Her hands reached up, resting flat against my chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of my heart beneath my linen shirt.
“I was terrified today,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “Not because she hit me. But because for a second, I thought you were going to agree with your mother. I thought you were going to tell me that my time here was finished.”
“Never,” I breathed, leaning down until our foreheads touched. “You brought warmth into a house that was built on cold stone and blood. You made me remember what it feels like to be a man instead of a weapon.”
Grace let out a soft, shuddering sigh, closing the tiny distance between us. When her lips touched mine this time, there was no hesitation, no shock. It was a slow, consuming fire—a desperate, tender surrender that dissolved three years of unspoken longing.
I lifted her onto the edge of the marble island, pulling her against me. Her hands tangled in my hair, her fingers gripping tight as if she were afraid I would vanish into the shadows. For the first time since Claire died, the relentless, grinding noise in my mind went completely silent.
There was only Grace.
Suddenly, the red landline phone mounted beneath the pantry cabinets began to ring.
It wasn't a standard ring. It was a sharp, high-pitched warble that only sounded when the private line between my estate and the Terminal Four shipping office was activated.
Grace pulled back slightly, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with sudden dread.
I picked up the receiver. “Cole.”
Viktor’s voice came through the line, strained and ragged with panic. “Boss. It’s Terminal Four. The northern warehouse… it’s on fire. Three of our patrol boats just took heavy gunfire from an unmarked cigarette boat near the channel. They’re trying to sink the supply barge!”
My jaw tightened. “Casualties?”
“Two guards down,” Viktor reported. “We need your authorization to deploy the heavy tactical unit at the docks. Boss, if that barge sinks, the entire channel will be blocked for a month!”
I looked at Grace. She was watching me, her hands clasped tightly against her chest, reading the cold shift in my posture.
“Lock down the docks,” I ordered Viktor. “I’m on my way.”
I slammed the receiver back onto the wall.
“Alexander, what is it?” Grace asked, sliding off the counter, her voice trembling.
“It’s Delgado,” I said, grabbing my shoulder holster from the hidden drawer beneath the counter and strapping it on with practiced, mechanical efficiency. “He’s attacking the commercial docks. He’s trying to force a confrontation on the water.”
Grace grabbed my forearm. “Don't go. It feels wrong. Why would he attack the docks in the middle of the night?”
“Because he thinks I’ll stay here and cower behind my gates,” I said, pulling her into a fierce, brief embrace and kissing her forehead. “Viktor has five men stationed at the gate and three on the water perimeter. The compound is on maximum lockdown. Lock the nursery door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me or Viktor. Do you understand?”
Grace nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Be careful. Please, Alexander. Come back to us.”
“I will always come back to you,” I swore.
May you like
I ran out into the courtyard, the engine of my armored SUV roaring to life as I sped through the iron gates toward the downtown docks, completely unaware that the fire at Terminal Four was nothing more than an expensive, deadly distraction.
***
