"The Mafia King heard a poor maid singing on his birthday—12 hours later, he learned her hidden bloodline and started a war to save her."

I closed the ten-yard gap in two strides, my heavy boot kicking Victor’s revolver out of his hand with crushing force. The gun flew thirty feet through the air, clattering harmlessly into the dark shadows of the shipping bay.

Victor let out a guttural growl, pulling a heavy tactical knife from his belt and lunging at my chest. "You die like your father, Declan!"

I dodged the blade by an inch, grabbing his wrist with my left hand and twisting it backward until the bone snapped with a sickening CRACK.

Victor shrieked in agony, dropping the knife.

Before he could recover, I grabbed him by his leather lapels, lifted his two-hundred-pound frame off the ground, and slammed him flat against the iron I-beam with terrifying, physical force.

THUD!

Dust and rust rained down from the ceiling rafters.

Victor hung suspended, gasping for air, his bloodshot eyes bulging in pure, unvarnished terror as he looked into my face. He didn't see a businessman in an expensive suit anymore—he saw the apex predator who ruled the East Coast Underworld.

"Fifteen years, Victor," I whispered, pressing my forearm against his throat, cutting off his air supply until his face turned purple. "Fifteen years you lied to my family. You stole our money, you hunted an innocent woman, and you tried to torture my sister."

"Declan... please..." Victor choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "I... I can give you the bonds... we can split it...!"

"I don't need your bonds, Victor," I answered softly, every word dropped like a block of ice. "I own the city."

I drew my pistol with my right hand, placing the warm barrel directly beneath his chin.

"This is for Margaret Davies," I whispered.

CRACK.

The shot echoed through the massive warehouse, dying away into complete, absolute silence.

I released his lapels, letting Victor’s lifeless body collapse flat onto the dusty concrete floor.

I turned around immediately, stepping past the blood and debris, drawing my tactical knife to slice through the heavy ropes binding Clary to the wooden chair.

The ropes fell away.

Clary collapsed forward, her body shivering violently from shock and exhaustion. Before she could hit the floor, I caught her in my arms, pulling her small, fragile frame flush against my chest, wrapping my heavy charcoal coat around her shivering shoulders.

"It's over, Clary," I whispered into her dark hair, my voice hoarse with emotion. "You're safe. Your brother is safe. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."

Clary buried her face in my shoulder, clinging to my suit lapels with her small, bruised hands, letting out a ragged, heartbroken sob that tore through my chest.