The heavy silence that followed Victor Yates’s sudden act of submission was absolute. Within the polished walls of the Orion Gallery, the air felt thin, as if the collective gasp of the crowd had sucked out all the oxygen. Victor, the man whose name was synonymous with the iron-fisted control of Port Haven’s underworld, stood with his head bowed, his broad shoulders trembling slightly.
He finally understood the magnitude of the cliff he had almost walked off.
Straightening himself with an effort that looked physically painful, Victor turned toward Daphne Davenport. He didn't offer a handshake—he knew he hadn't earned that. Instead, he inclined his head in a stiff, respectful nod. "Ms. Davenport," he said, his voice gravelly but devoid of its earlier malice. "It appears my family’s lack o
