Blake POV

The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

Jaden looked around, her confidence faltering for the first time.

"You can't do this," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Connor will kill you."

Ignoring her, I reached into my apron pocket and withdrew a burner phone.

It was a small, black device with only one number saved in it.

I hadn't used it in a year.

I dialed.

It rang once.

"Report," a deep, gravelly voice answered.

David Shaw.

My father.

"Code Black," I said coldly.

The line went silent for a heartbeat.

"Location?" he asked.

"The kitchen. Velvet Lounge."

"Status?"

"Hostile civilian on site. Personnel compromised. The Treaty has been violated."

I heard the sound of a chair scraping against a floor on the other end.

"Are you hurt?"

I looked down at my hand. It was throbbing, the skin angry and tight.

"Yes," I said.

"I'm sending the wolves," he growled.

"No," I said, my voice steady. "I want Connor here. In person. Ten minutes."

"Done."

"And send Lina. Bring the Dissolution Papers."

"Ten minutes, Principessa."

The line went dead.

I slid the phone onto the stainless steel counter.

Turning my gaze to Mark, who was cowering in the corner, I offered a grim warning.

"You might want to start praying, Mark."

"Who are you calling?" Jaden demanded, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle. "You think you can scare me? I own this city!"

I walked over to a stool and sat down, pointedly not offering her a seat.

"You don't own anything, Jaden," I said. "You're renting space in a grave you just dug."

Silence descended, heavy and suffocating.

The kitchen staff stood pressed against the walls, watching with wide eyes.

Austin stood next to me, his arms crossed over his chest.

He handed me a clean towel filled with ice. He didn't ask questions.

He just stood guard.

Nine minutes later, the back door slammed open.

Mark jumped.

Jaden spun around.

Connor Bishop burst into the room.

He was out of breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his tie was crooked.

He looked like a man who had just stared into the abyss and seen it staring back.

He scanned the room wildly.

He saw Jaden.

He saw Austin.

And then he saw me.

Sitting on the stool. Holding the ice to my hand.

"Blake," he gasped. "Your father... his men... they're outside. They have the building surrounded. What is going on?"

Jaden ran to him, grabbing his arm desperately.

"Baby! She locked me in here! She threatened me! Tell them to arrest her!"

Connor tried to shake her off, his eyes glued to me in horror.

"Blake, answer me. Why is the Shaw Syndicate surrounding my club?"

I stood up.

Slowly, deliberately, I took off the apron.

I let it fall to the floor.

It was a dirty, stained piece of fabric-the only thing that had made me his subordinate.

Now, I was just me.

"You failed, Connor," I said.

"Failed what?" he asked, his voice rising in panic.

"The test."

The kitchen doors swung open again.

Lina walked in.

She was wearing a sharp black suit, her heels clicking on the tile like rifle shots.

She was flanked by two men who were twice the size of Austin, both gripping assault rifles.

Lina didn't look at Connor.

She walked straight to me.

"Principessa," she said, handing me a leather portfolio.

Connor's face went white.

All the blood drained from his skin.

He looked from Lina to me, his lips trembling.

"Principessa?" he whispered.

"You ordered me to kneel," I said, stepping toward him.

I threw the portfolio at his feet.

It landed with a heavy, final thud.

"Now you crawl."

Blake Shaw POV:

The heavy thud of Connor's knees hitting the cold marble floor echoed through the cavernous living room.

It was a dull, sickening sound. He had been raised as a mafia prince, groomed to inherit an empire, taught that the world would always bow to him. That single, hollow impact was the sound of his lifelong arrogance shattering into dust.

I sat on the genuine leather sofa, the crystal stem of my wine glass cool against my fingers. I didn't even blink. I didn't look at him.

Connor waited for a reaction. When he got none, he began to crawl. His expensive suit dragged against the polished stone as he shuffled forward on his knees. He reached out with trembling fingers, trying to grab the hem of my black haute couture dress. He was so used to this. He thought a display of weakness, a pathetic plea, would instantly earn him forgiveness from a woman.

His fingers were inches from the fabric when a cold, black steel barrel pressed directly against the center of his forehead.

Austin stood half a step behind my right shoulder. He held the gun with one hand, his posture relaxed but coiled with lethal intent. His eyes looked down at Connor the exact same way he looked at a corpse.

Connor's entire body went rigid. The breath hitched in his throat. Forced by the pressure of the muzzle, he tilted his head up to look at me on the sofa.

I finally set my wine glass down on the glass coffee table. The sharp clink of crystal against glass cut through the heavy silence in the room.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. I looked down at him from my elevated position, letting a slow, mocking curve form on my lips.

"Blakey," Connor choked out. His voice was thick with tears, trembling so hard he could barely form the syllables.

My stomach churned. A wave of pure, physical disgust washed over me at the sound of that pet name. For three years, I had endured his cold violence, his blatant betrayals, and his endless lies while he called me that. It didn't sound like love anymore. It sounded like poison.

I raised my right hand, the black diamond ring catching the dim light. I flicked my index finger.

Austin immediately pulled the gun back exactly one inch.

Connor's shoulders slumped. He let out a pathetic gasp of air, thinking my gesture meant mercy. Words started spilling from his mouth in a frantic rush. He swore that the betrayal wasn't his fault. He cried that Jaden, that cheap bitch, had seduced him, tricked him, manipulated him into doing it.

A cold laugh ripped from my throat.

I picked up the thick stack of asset merger agreements from the table. I didn't hand them to him. I threw the heavy bundle directly into his face.

The sharp edge of the premium paper sliced across his cheekbone. A thin line of bright red blood instantly welled up on his pale skin.

The documents scattered across the floor around his knees. Every single page was covered in dense legal text, detailing the complete stripping of all his legitimate businesses, his underground territories, and his bank accounts.

Connor stared down at the papers. His pupils shrank to tiny pinpricks. He shook his head frantically, his breathing turning into rapid, shallow pants. He refused to accept what he was seeing.

"I am still the heir to the Bishop family!" he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "I have hundreds of men waiting outside! You can't do this!"

Austin didn't say a word. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a remote, and pressed a button.

The massive flat-screen television on the far wall flared to life.

The screen was split into dozens of live security feeds. I watched Connor's eyes dart from screen to screen. He saw the Bishop family's shipping ports swarming with men wearing the Shaw family crest. He saw his underground casinos being violently cleared out by my enforcers.

The scream died in his throat. The blood drained completely from his face, leaving him the color of ash. His muscles gave out, and he slumped sideways onto the floor, surrounded by the scattered papers.

I stood up. My heels clicked sharply against the marble. I stepped directly onto the pages of the agreement, stopping right in front of his face.

I reached back. Austin unclipped the backup dagger from his belt and placed the hilt into my palm. I tossed it onto the floor. It clattered against the marble, coming to a stop right next to Connor's trembling hand.

"Sign the papers," I said, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Or use that blade to end yourself right now."

Connor stared at the gleaming metal of the dagger. His chest heaved. I could see the exact moment his survival instinct crushed whatever microscopic shred of dignity he had left.

His hand shook violently as he reached out. He bypassed the handle of the dagger. His fingers fumbled against the marble until they closed around the sleek metal pen that had fallen with the documents.

He pressed the pen to the paper. The sheer humiliation of the act made him bite down on his lower lip so hard that blood began to run down his chin.

He formed the first letter of his name. Then the second.

Just as the pen stroke neared the final letter, a deafening crash echoed through the mansion. The massive double doors of the living room were violently kicked open from the outside.

A blast of freezing wind and heavy rain swept into the warm room. Everyone turned toward the entrance.

The sharp crunch of expensive leather shoes stepping on broken glass filled the air. A man in a dark trench coat walked through the doorway, his hands coming together in a slow, mocking applause.

The representative of the Apex Cartel stopped in the center of the room. He looked down at Connor, who was still frozen on the floor with the pen in his bleeding mouth. A cruel, insulting sneer twisted the man's face.

"It seems I arrived just in time to witness the birth of a stray dog."