The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Cut the Pregnant Maid’s Hair in Front of Forty Guests and Learned Too Late Who the Baby’s Father Really Was

The rain over Pier 4 was torrential, turning the concrete docks into a slick, black mirror.

The Whitlock warehouse was a massive, empty space smelling of diesel and wet wood. In the center of the room, Caleb Monroe sat tied to a wooden chair, his face bruised and bloody, his eyes half-closed.

Arthur Whitlock stood beside him, flanked by ten of his heaviest mercenary guards, all of them holding automatic weapons.

The heavy steel doors of the warehouse slowly slid open.

Daniel Carver walked inside, wearing a long black coat, his hands in his pockets. He carried the leather ledger under his arm.

“Where is the drive, Carver?” Arthur demanded, his voice echoing in the vast space.

Daniel stopped twenty feet away. He tossed the leather ledger onto the concrete floor between them.

“The drive is in the hands of the federal district attorney, Arthur,” Daniel said calmly. “Along with the original account keys. By tomorrow morning, every asset owned by the Whitlock family will be frozen by the federal government. Your daughter is going to prison for attempted murder, and you are going to prison for treason.”

Arthur’s face twisted in rage. “You think you can destroy me, Carver? I have ten men here! You came alone!”

“I’m never alone in my city, Arthur,” Daniel said.

Suddenly, the glass skylights above them shattered as six of Daniel’s tactical team rappelled down on ropes, their automatic weapons firing before they even touched the ground.

At the same time, the rear doors of the warehouse exploded inward, and Marcus led another squad of men into the room, their weapons raised.

The warehouse erupted into a brief, deafening gunfight. The Whitlock mercenaries, realized they were completely outmatched, began dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

Arthur Whitlock scrambled back, his cane falling to the floor as he reached for a small pistol in his pocket.

But before his hand could touch the weapon, Daniel was there. He caught Arthur’s collar, throwing him hard against the concrete wall, his large hand wrapping around the older man’s throat.

“Your family took my wife’s husband,” Daniel growled, his gray eyes flashing with a terrifying, lethal light. “You took her brother. And you tried to take my child. The only reason you’re still breathing, Arthur, is because I want you to spend the rest of your miserable life in a concrete cell, watching my family run this city.”

He threw Arthur to the floor, where Marcus immediately handcuffed him.

Daniel ran to Caleb’s side, using his pocket knife to quickly cut the ropes holding him.

“Caleb,” Daniel said, his voice soft. “Can you walk?”