Chapter 5
The transition from the grand ballroom to the penthouse suite was a blur of humiliation for Vivienne. Stallone’s men, the silent, suited figures who had revealed their true allegiances, had escorted her roughly by the arms into a private elevator. Stallone had walked ahead of her, his ruined suit jacket discarded, his posture projecting an unbreakable dominance. Now, she stood in the center of the sprawling penthouse, the glittering skyline of the city mocking her from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Arthur the Hotel Manager stood by the mahogany dining table, arranging a stack of dense legal contracts. He smoothed the paper with his white gloves, completely indifferent to the panic radiating from the woman he had served drinks to just an hour earlier.
"Arthur, please," Vivienne begged, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper as Stallone poured himself a glass of whiskey at the bar. "I tipped you thousands. I secured your daughter’s admission to prep school. You know me."
Arthur did not look up from the documents. "I know that you are a woman who inherited a stolen kingdom, Ms. Cross. My loyalty was purchased by Mr. Stallone long before you were born. I am merely facilitating the eviction."
"Eviction?" Vivienne gasped, stepping toward the table. "You expect me to just walk away with nothing? I am Vivienne Cross! I am on the board of every major charity in this state!"
Stallone turned around, the crystal whiskey tumbler catching the dim light of the penthouse. He took a slow sip, the amber liquid burning smoothly.
"By tomorrow morning, the name Vivienne Cross will be synonymous with federal fraud," Stallone said, walking toward the table. "Unless you sign the transfer documents, quietly surrendering the assets back to their rightful owner."
"You're a monster," she hissed, her hands balling into fists. The red mark on her cheek throbbed painfully, a physical reminder of her shattered reality. "My grandmother warned me about men like you. Thugs who use violence to steal from legitimate business owners."
Stallone let out a dark, humorless chuckle. It was a terrifying sound. "Legitimate. Evelyn Cross ordered the hit on my lieutenant in '98 to cover up her missing payments. She poisoned a federal judge in 2004 to secure the zoning rights for your beloved country club. Your grandmother was a gangster, Vivienne. She just wore better perfume than the rest of us."
Vivienne shook her head frantically. "No, no, that’s a lie. She was a saint."
"She was a thief," Stallone slammed the whiskey glass down onto the mahogany table. The sudden noise made Vivienne flinch backward. "And she was foolish enough to think I died in that warehouse fire. She celebrated my death. She used my blood to paint your perfect, rosy little life."
Stallone leaned over the table, tapping a thick, calloused finger against the dotted line of the top contract.
"The debt is due. Sign the paper."
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"And if I refuse?" Vivienne challenged, though her chin trembled wildly. "What will you do? Kill me right here in the penthouse? The police will be swarming this building by morning."
"I don't need to kill you," Stallone replied softly, stepping back into the shadows of the room. "I just need to make you poor. For a woman like you, that is a fate far worse than death."
