Two days later, Thursday night arrived, but Avery didn’t show up for her shift.
Vincent stood in his office, his eyes fixed on the security monitors as the clock ticked past midnight.
Roman knocked and stepped inside, placing a manila folder on the desk with a heavy thud.
His face was grim, devoid of its usual clinical detachment.
“There is no Avery Quinn,” Roman said.
“But there is an Elena Holloway.
Derek Holloway’s daughter.”
Vincent’s gaze snapped to the file.
He flipped it open, and the breath left his lungs.
A younger photo of the girl he’d seen in the supply room stared back, but this one was from three years ago—before she had gone missing during a highly publicized scandal involving Derek’s offshore accounTS.
“She wasn’t kidnapped,” Roman continued.
“She escaped.
She’s been living under the radar, moving through shelters and gig work to stay invisible.
She isn’t cleaning tables, Vincent.
She’s hunting him.”
Vincent slammed the folder shut, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow.
The fear he had seen in the supply room wasn’t the fear of a victim—it was the calculated terror of a girl who knew exactly how dangerous her father was, and how close she had come to being dragged back into his orbit.
The back door of the club suddenly burst open.
It wasn’t one of the staff.
It was Derek Holloway, surrounded by three armed men, his signature predatory grin plastered across his face.
He walked into the club like he owned the floor, ignoring the security team as he made his way toward Vincent’s office.
“I heard you took on a stray,” Derek said, bypassing the formalities as he entered.
“A little girl with dark hair.
I want her.”
Vincent didn’t stand.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his desk.
“You’re trespassing, Derek.”
“I’m claiming my property,” Derek countered, his voice dripping with arrogance.
“She took something of mine before she left.
Something I intend to get back.”
A sudden, sharp movement behind the door caught their attention.
Avery stepped out from the shadows, a small, matte-black handgun leveled with terrifying precision at Derek’s heart.
She wasn’t trembling anymore.
She was as cold and still as a winter grave.
“You didn’t come for the property, Dad,” she said, her voice steady and echoing through the room.
“You came because you’re terrified I’ll talk to the Feds.”
Derek’s smile faltered, replaced by a twitch of pure, unadulterated rage.
“You’re a failure, Elena.
Just like your mother.”
He moved to reach for her, but Vincent was faster.
In one fluid motion, he was out of his chair, pinning Derek against the office wall with an iron grip around his throat.
The tension in the room snapped.
Roman and his security detail had their weapons drawn on the three armed guards, who now looked at their boss with wide, hesitant eyes.
“The girl stays,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal growl.
“And you? You leave.
If I ever see your shadow near this club—or near her—the next thing you’ll be paying for is your own funeral.”
Derek gasped for air, his eyes bulging as he met Vincent’s cold, unwavering gaze.
He realized then that he had played a losing hand.
With a desperate gesture, he signaled his men to stand down and scrambled out of the office, his vanity shattered.
Avery stood frozen for a long moment, the gun still gripped in her hand.
Slowly, she lowered it.
The dangerous edge of hope Vincent had seen days ago had solidified into something steel-hard.
She looked at him—not as a boss, but as the only man who had ever given her a choice.
“You knew,” she whispered.
“I figured it out,” Vincent replied, walking back to his desk and picking up the folder.
“But the job offer still stands.
You have a shift tomorrow night.”
Avery let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for three years.
She nodded, turning toward the door.
As she walked out, she didn’t look back at the life she had been running from; she looked forward, into the club where, for the first time, she wasn’t a ghost.
She was home.
Vincent watched her go, then looked at the empty doorway.
The debt was settled, the hunter was protected, and in the heart of his city, the balance had been restored.
The game had changed, but Vincent Maro was still the man who fixed things—and this was a problem he was more than happy to solve.
