She thought I was just a server at the charity gala—until a question revealing the hotel owner's true identity made her go pale.

The private salvage yard in Newark smelled of rust, motor oil, and impending death. The three Chicago freight trucks had been towed into the massive warehouse, hidden away from the world. Marcus Thorne hung by his wrists from heavy steel chains attached to a hydraulic engine hoist, his arrogance entirely beaten out of him.

The heavy metal doors of the warehouse rolled open, and Dominic Valerio walked in. He wore his dark suit, the fabric blending seamlessly with the shadows of the industrial space. He walked slowly, his footsteps echoing against the concrete, projecting a deeply masculine presence that made the air in the room feel heavy and suffocating.

Elias stood beside the hoist, handing Dominic a steel crowbar. Dominic didn't take it. He didn't need tools to break a man. He stopped a few feet from Thorne, his frighteningly calm gaze locking onto the bleeding enforcer's eyes.

"I built the Chicago syndicate," Dominic said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "I put the men you serve into power fifteen years ago before I stepped away. You are trespassing in a house I built, Marcus."

Thorne coughed, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva onto the concrete floor. "The bosses think you're weak, Valerio. You spent ten years hiding in a library while we took over the Midwest. We have hundreds of men ready to march on New York."

"If you had hundreds of men, you wouldn't have tried to sneak through the mountains in freight trucks," Dominic countered, stepping closer. "You were sent to test the waters. To see if the ghost still had teeth. Where are the other two teams staging?"

Thorne laughed bitterly. "Go to hell."

Dominic did not raise his voice. He didn't flinch. He simply reached out with one massive, calloused hand and gripped Thorne's broken shoulder. He squeezed. He didn't crush it instantly; he applied a slow, agonizing, calculated pressure that sent shockwaves of blinding pain through the enforcer's nervous system.

Thorne screamed, his body thrashing violently against the chains. Dominic held his gaze, completely unmoved by the violent display of agony, his face carved from stone.

"I do not ask twice," Dominic whispered, releasing the pressure just a fraction. "Where are the other two teams?"

"The Brooklyn shipyards!" Thorne gasped out, tears of absolute agony streaming down his face. "Pier 42! They're hitting the offshore accounts tonight. They have a contact... someone from the inside who gave them the security codes to your shipping containers."

Dominic released the shoulder completely. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his hand, and turned his back on the broken man.