CHAPTER 10 — Shadows in the Suburbs
The cold air bit at my cheeks as Mark and I walked down the driveway. The two men leaning against the black SUV didn't flinch. Up close, they were exactly what I expected: heavy-set, dead-eyed enforcers whose expensive coats barely hid the bulky, violent reality of their profession. They were the kind of men who relied on intimidation to break ordinary suburbanites. But they had no idea who they were dealing with. I stopped ten feet from the vehicle, planting my feet firmly, my hands resting lightly in my pockets, gripping the cold steel of the flashlight. Mark stood slightly to my right, positioning himself protectively—a gesture I didn't need, but one I deeply appreciated.
"Can I help you?" I asked, my voice carrying the flat, echoing authority of a commanding officer. The taller of the two men, sporting a scarred brow and a thick neck, smirked. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the frozen grass between us. "Your brother-in-law, Greg, has a severe memory problem," the man grunted, his breath pluming in the freezing air. "He owes our boss a substantial amount of money. He told us that if we came here, you’d square the account. Consider this a friendly neighborhood reminder. Mr. Vance wants his money by Friday, or things get... complicated."
I didn't look down at the paper. I kept my eyes locked entirely on the speaker's face, projecting utter, unbreakable calm. "Let me make this exceptionally clear for you and for Mr. Vance," I said smoothly. "Greg does not live here. He is not financially affiliated with me, and I do not pay his debts. If you step onto this property again, if you follow my children, or if you park this vehicle within a one-mile radius of my home, I will not call the police. I will consider it a hostile threat, and I will dismantle you. Do you understand?"
The enforcer laughed—a harsh, grating sound. He took a step forward, trying to use his physical size to crowd my space. "Listen here, lady, you don't know who—"
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Before he could finish the sentence, Mark stepped directly into the man's path. "She said, do you understand?" Mark’s voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a new, vibrating intensity I had never heard before. The man looked at Mark, surprised by the sudden defiance from the man in the cardigan. But it was my movement that stopped them cold. I withdrew my hand from my pocket, the heavy steel tactical flashlight resting casually in my grip, my stance shifting imperceptibly into a combat-ready base. The enforcers were professionals; they recognized the subtle shift. They recognized that I wasn't posturing. I was entirely willing to engage, and I was entirely devoid of fear.
The shorter man tapped his partner's arm, shaking his head slightly. "Not worth it tonight, Dom. We delivered the message." They backed away, climbing into the SUV without another word. As the black vehicle sped off into the night, its taillights bleeding red against the snow, Mark let out a long, shuddering breath. "My God," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. "Greg owes the mob?" I bent down, picking up the folded paper from the frost. It was a ledger, detailing a debt of $245,000, stamped with the logo of Vance Enterprises. "Worse," I murmured, crushing the paper in my fist. "He owes organized corporate criminals. And if they can't get it from him, they're going to go after the softest targets in the family." My mother and my sister were squarely in the crosshairs.
