I carried my sick baby into the mansion of New York’s most feared underworld figure, expecting to be fired for bringing her to work. Instead, Dominic Romano recognized the silver locket around her neck—and minutes later, men were forcing their way through his gates because my daughter was the person they had come to find.

The glass-walled executive boardroom on the forty-fourth floor was filled with fifteen nervous board members in dark suits, sitting around a massive mahogany table.

Julian Vance stood at the head of the room, pointing at a digital projection screen showing pending financial transfers.

"Gentlemen, as soon as you authorize these signatures, the corporate restructuring will be complete!" Vance urged frantically, his hands sweating against his laser pointer. "We move the capital before—"

BANG!

The double doors of the boardroom were thrown open so hard the glass panels rattled in their aluminum frames.

Dominic Romano walked into the room, flanked by two attorneys carrying thick leather briefs.

The fifteen board members gasped, several jumping out of their seats in absolute shock.

"Dominic?!" Vance shrieked, backing away toward the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. "Security! Get him out of here!"

"Your security guards are currently being processed by the NYPD in the lobby, Julian," Dominic said smoothly, walking down the length of the long table, taking the center chair at the head of the room.

"You can't be in here!" Vance screamed, his face turning an unsightly blotchy red. "This is a private corporate meeting!"

Dominic nodded to his lead attorney, who opened a heavy navy folder and projected a document onto the room's main digital screens.

"As of 7:30 PM tonight," the attorney announced to the terrified board, "the emergency master key ledger stolen from Vance Financial nine years ago was fully decrypted and delivered to the Securities and Exchange Commission, the Department of Justice, and the International Monetary Fund."

A wave of panicked shouts erupted from the board members.

"What?!"

"Our clearing accounts are frozen?!"

"We're ruined!"

"Furthermore," Dominic added, his voice cutting through the panic like an executioner's blade, "the ledger contains recorded audio logs made by Elena Marino prior to her death, explicitly detailing Julian Vance’s personal orders to execute rival corporate officers, launder cartel capital, and order the kidnapping of her infant child."

Julian Vance stared at the screen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. The magnificent empire he had spent thirty years building on blood, theft, and fear was disintegrating before his very eyes in less than three minutes.

"You..." Vance choked out, glaring at Dominic with murderous, insane fury. "You think you won?! You think because you have paper you can ruin me?!"

Vance suddenly reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a concealed snub-nosed revolver, aiming it straight at Dominic's chest.

The board members screamed, diving beneath the mahogany table for cover.

Dominic didn't even blink. He sat in his chair, leaning back calmly, looking at the gun with absolute disdain.

"Do it, Julian," Dominic challenged quietly. "Fire that gun in front of fifteen witnesses and four security cameras. See if it saves your three billion dollars."

Vance’s hand shook violently, his finger tightening against the trigger. "Where is the baby, Dominic?! Where is Elena's child?!"

"She is in a place you will never touch," Dominic replied, his voice dropping into an icy whisper. "And her name is Claire."

Before Vance could pull the trigger, the heavy glass windows behind him were shattered inward by two flashbang grenades fired from an FBI tactical helicopter hovering outside the forty-fourth floor.

BLINDING FLASH! EXPLOSION!

Federal agents in black gear rappelled through the shattered glass, tackling Julian Vance to the floor, disarming him, and slamming his face against the polished floorboards.

"JULIAN VANCE! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR FEDERAL WIRE FRAUD, MONEY LAUNDERING, AND FIRST-DEGREE MURDER!" an agent roared.

Dominic stood up, buttoned his charcoal suit jacket, and looked down at the disgraced, weeping man pinned beneath the federal agents' boots.