Chapter 6 - The Long Island AuctionThe Vance estate in Long Island was a grotesque display of unearned wealth—gilded arches, oversized marble fountains, and armed guards disguised in ill-fitting tuxedos patrolling the manicured grounds.
Inside the grand ballroom, dozens of wealthy underground brokers, crooked developers, and disgraced politicians sat around velvet-covered bidding tables.
I walked into the room on Dominic’s arm, wearing a jaw-dropping black backless gown adorned with thousands of microscopic diamonds that caught the light like stars. Dominic wore a custom midnight-blue tuxedo, looking like an emperor inspecting his territory.
The room fell instant silent as we stepped across the threshold.
Salvatore Vance—a stout, silver-topped man in his late sixties with a thick golden watch—stood near the podium, his eyes narrowing as he watched us approach.
"Dominic," Salvatore sneered, stepping down from the stage. "I didn't expect you to grace my humble auction with your presence. I thought you were retired."
"I was," Dominic replied smoothly, his hands resting casually in his pockets. "Until you decided to buy debt tied to my woman's family heritage."
Salvatore’s eyes flicked to me, a grotesque smirk touching his lips. "Ah, the Blake girl. You've brought quite a storm to New York, my dear. But Nathan's shares are legally pledged to my syndicate as loan collateral. They go to the highest bidder tonight."
"Then let's begin the bidding," I spoke up, stepping forward, my voice cool, confident, and echoing clearly across the hall.
Salvatore chuckled patronizingly. "Little girl, the starting bid for Nathan's forty percent stake in Hudson Yards is fifty million dollars. You don't have that kind of cash."
I pulled a crisp black bank draft from my clutch purse and laid it flat on the head table.
"One hundred million," I said without missing a beat.
The room gasped. Salvatore’s smirk instantly vanished.
"You can't cover that!" Salvatore barked, looking frantically at Dominic. "You're financing her, Bellardi! That's against syndicate auction rules!"
"Check the signature on the draft, Vance," Dominic said softly, stepping up beside me.
Salvatore snatched the document, reading the bottom line. His face drained of all color.
The check was drawn directly from the Clara Blake Private Holding Trust—an account my father had secretly funded in Zurich thirty years ago, completely separate from the family foundation, accessible only when I turned twenty-eight.
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I was richer than Nathan, Victoria, and Salvatore Vance combined.
"I don't need Dominic's money to crush you, Salvatore," I whispered, stepping close to the stunned mobster. "I just needed his company to make sure you didn't shoot me on the way in."
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