The insults grew louder, the guests finding courage in numbers, in shared condemnation of the outsider who'd disrupted their careful social hierarchy.Darius paused in his walk toward Donald, his attention shifting to the crowd of complaining guests. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping across the assembled young heirs and heiresses with an expression that was utterly neutral but somehow more intimidating than if he'd been actively threatening.The effect was immediate and dramatic.The loudest complainers fell silent the moment Darius's eyes landed on them. The contemptuous smirks faded. The bold pointing fingers dropped. Every person who'd been shouting insults moments ago suddenly found themselves unable to speak under the weight of that cold, assessing gaze.It was like being examined by a predator—something in Darius's eyes that reminded them on a primal level that they were soft, privileged, protected children facing someone who'd killed before and wouldn't hesitate to do it agai

Donald's face twisted into a defiant scowl despite the pain radiating from his destroyed cheeks. "My grandfather... my grandfather is not your mate! Not someone you can just... just threaten and expect to back down! Edward Wesley is—"His words cut off in a shriek of pure agony as Darius's foot came down on Donald's ankle—not a stomp, but a precise, controlled press that put exactly the right amount of pressure on exactly the right spot.The ankle joint compressed under Darius's weight. Tendons strained. Bones ground together in a way they were never meant to. The pain was immediate, intense, and carried with it the terrifying implication of what would happen if Darius applied just a little more force.Just one more press—one more shift of weight—and Donald's ankle would shatter. The bones would fracture in multiple places. The tendons would tear. Donald Wesley, who'd walked into this party with such confidence and arrogance, would leave it crippled. Unable to walk properly for months

Garrick Wesley's frown deepened as he accepted the call from his son, his expression showing irritation at being interrupted during important business negotiations. He pressed the phone to his ear, expecting Donald to have some trivial complaint or request that could have waited until morning.What he heard instead made his blood run cold."FATHER! FATHER, HELP ME! PLEASE! HE'S GOING TO BREAK MY ANKLE! HE'S—"The voice was Donald's, but barely recognizable—high-pitched with pain and terror, words tumbling out in a panicked rush that made them almost incomprehensible."Donald?" Garrick said sharply, his posture straightening immediately. "Slow down. What are you talking about? Who's going to break your ankle?""DARIUS KANE! The man I told you about! He's got his foot on my ankle! He's pressing down! Father, it HURTS! It hurts so much! And he says if I don't cooperate he'll—he'll cripple me! He'll shatter the bones and I'll never walk properly again!"Donald's voice cracked into sobs. "

Garrick Wesley stood frozen in Raymond Romano's study, his phone still in his hand, his mind struggling to process what he'd just heard from Darius Kane. The calm certainty in that man's voice. The complete lack of fear or concern about Wesley family retaliation. The casual way he'd described Donald's injuries and humiliation.No one speaks to the Wesley family like that, Garrick thought, his shock transforming rapidly into cold fury. No one threatens us. No one challenges our authority. And certainly no one assaults our heir without facing complete and utter destruction.Raymond Romano had already moved to the study door, his expression showing a similar mixture of rage and deadly purpose. He turned back to look at Garrick, his eyes hard."We're going," Raymond said, his voice carrying the absolute authority of a man who'd built and maintained a criminal empire through decades of ruthless decision-making. "Now. To the ballroom. To see what's actually happening and deal with it approp

Garrick Wesley stood frozen in Raymond Romano's study, the phone call with Darius Kane still echoing in his mind. That voice—calm, controlled, utterly fearless—had spoken to him like an equal rather than someone facing the wrath of two of Duskfort's most powerful families.The audacity, Garrick thought, his hands clenching into fists. The sheer arrogance to speak to me that way. To threaten my son. To act as if the Wesley name means nothing.Raymond had already moved to the door, his expression carved from stone. He paused, looking back at Garrick with eyes that promised violence."We go now," Raymond said, his voice carrying the absolute authority that had built and maintained his criminal empire for decades. "No one dares challenge the Wesley family and the Romano family simultaneously. No one crosses both our bloodlines and lives to speak of it.""Agreed," Garrick replied, the humiliation of that phone call burning in his chest like acid. His son—his heir—had been reduced to a sobb