Carter still had that smile on his face when the large man charged toward Caelan.The smile of someone already certain of the ending before the story was over.Then the large man went down.Not in any way anyone watching could have imagined. Not from tripping, not from losing his balance, not from anything visibly stopping him. He was running, and then he was on the ground, with a bloody nose and eyes shut tight.He was out cold. Just like that.No one could explain when Caelan moved. No one could explain what happened between the large man running and the large man lying there. As though a piece of the event had been skipped over by every eye present, including the three men standing behind him.All three stopped.They looked at each other, then at Caelan, then at their colleague on the ground.Caelan spoke in the tone of someone reporting the weather."He passed out from one punch."His eyes moved to Carter."If your people are this weak—how exactly were they supposed to beat me?"C

The voice from the other end came through quietly, unclear to anyone else standing nearby."Dad, listen to me. He knocked out all four of my guys, Dad! All four of them! They're all passed out on the ground right now! And this bastard—he even insulted Crimson Dragon! He called Crimson Dragon a 'small-time outfit'!" His voice went up an octave. "I'm not taking this, Dad! I'm not! Bring Crimson Dragon here right now and teach this asshole a lesson he'll never forget for the rest of his life! Dad, you have to come here—you have to—"The voice from the other end cut him off.Carter shut his mouth for a moment, listened, then his face shifted into something resembling premature relief."Alright, Dad. I'll wait." The call ended.Inside the restaurant, several people standing near the window had heard enough of that call to understand what was happening—and the expressions on those faces had already shifted from entertained to something more cautious.Carter pocketed his phone, then looked a

Carter landed on the asphalt in a way embarrassing enough to make any witness look away—but no one looked away, because this was too extraordinary to miss.James rose from his kneeling position, but not to attack anyone.His eyes found Carter, and for the first time tonight, Carter saw something on James's face he had never seen there before.Pure fear that had transformed into rage."YOU STUPID LITTLE SHIT!" James's voice came out in a way very different from the voice of someone who gives orders. This was the voice of someone with no control over the situation, taking it out on the only target within reach. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU JUST PISSED OFF?!"Carter, with a cheek already starting to swell, stared at James with his mouth open and no sound coming out.Andrew wasn't any different. The man who was accustomed to reading situations and always knowing where to stand in any of them was now standing with no idea where to stand.What the hell is

The door of Maison Delvaux opened for them, and both stepped inside.Layla walked beside Caelan in a way different from how she had ever walked anywhere in her life—there was a hand she was holding, there was a man beside her, and out there was the leader of a criminal organization who had just bowed to the asphalt.All of that had happened in one night.Layla looked at the back of the hand holding hers.And something moved inside her chest that wasn't entirely pleasant. Not because she didn't want to be here, but because the deeper she went into this night, the clearer something became that she had been trying not to think about too much for quite some time.Doctor Voss had made Crimson Dragon kneel and beg for forgiveness.Not through physical force, not through threats, not through intimidation. Just by being there. Just by being who he was.Layla had never truly understood how large Doctor Voss's name was before tonight. She knew he was well-known. She knew his patients weren't or

The bottle of wine on the table was already waiting when they sat—a Burgundy, from a year William didn't need to speak aloud because the label already said more than enough, deep red in color.William poured in the way of someone very accustomed to the process—tilting the bottle at exactly the right angle, stopping before the glass was full at a measured distance, not a drop falling on the tablecloth.Then he spoke, in a tone that didn't sound like a pitch but felt like a conversation."For tonight, we'd like to suggest a few of our finest dishes." His hands pointed nowhere—everything was in how he spoke. "We have beef Wellington with black truffle sauce, the meat slow-roasted for four hours at a temperature we control precisely. For seafood, there's lobster thermidor with lemon butter and a touch of Provençal herbs. We also have handmade pasta with porcini mushrooms and aged pecorino—the pasta is made here daily, nothing prepared from yesterday." A pause. "And for dessert, chocolate