Nolan was the one who broke first. Not with words — with his hand, closing so hard around his own wine glass that the stem cracked between his fingers, a thin line of red blooming across his palm that he didn't even seem to notice. "Nolan." Vanessa grabbed his collar, twisting it in her fist, dragging his attention back from wherever it had gone. "Nolan, look at me. How is this man the Darius Carter? We called him a bitch. You called him a nobody. To his face." He didn't answer right away. Blood dripped once, twice, onto the marble between his shoes, and still he didn't look down. "I've heard that name before," he said finally, voice stripped of every ounce of swagger he'd walked in with. "Once. My father doesn't talk business in front of me, ever — but six years ago, one of his lieutenants vanished. No body. No note. My father spent a month afterward jumping every time a phone rang in the house." Nolan's throat moved, dry. "I asked him who he thought did it. He said one nam

Derek caught Nolan's chin between two fingers, tilting his face up, forcing eye contact through the blood and the swelling already starting along his jaw. "This is your final warning." Derek's voice stayed low, almost gentle, which made it worse. "By the time I'm done with you, you're going to wish you were dead. Not hurt. Not humiliated. Dead, and grateful for it." He gave Nolan's chin a light slap, almost dismissive, the way you'd correct a child. "Even if Satan himself walked through those doors tonight, he wouldn't be able to save you." Nolan wrenched his face free, spitting blood onto the marble, refusing to let the fear show through the fury. "You're a piece of trash who got lucky with a cheap shot," he snarled, pushing himself half upright on one elbow. "Don't act like this is over. You hit me once. That's it. That's all you get." Vanessa was already there, dropping to her knees beside him, voice pitched softer now, almost soothing, a stark contrast to the venom she'd b