Dr. Mercer looked down at the ultrasound monitor, her fingers moving with practiced ease over the trackball. The quiet hum of the machine filled the room, punctuated only by the rhythmic, heavy breathing of Dorian Cross standing near the door. He hadn't sat down once. His tall frame cast a long, imposing shadow across the sterile room, hand resting near the button of his suit jacket—a posture born of years of constant vigilance.

Dorian kicked the damaged rear door open with terrifying force, slamming the iron frame directly into the chest of the guard standing closest to the vehicle. The man flew backward onto the rain-slicked asphalt as Dorian stepped out into the storm like a vengeful god.

"Caleb!" Dorian's voice boomed across the empty, industrial underpass, echoing off the steel beams of the highway above.

Caleb stood thirty feet away, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear. He wore a high-end designer suit bought with the money Dorian had paid him over seven years of loyal service.

"You look terrible, boss," Caleb sneered, holding a heavy pistol relaxed at his side. "You should have stayed retired in that Lake Forest house. You should have signed those divorce papers. Victor would have let Alina walk away if you were just a civilian."

"Victor Valenti is a dog," Dorian said calmly, taking two slow steps forward despite the blood staining his shirt. "And you are the tick riding on his back."

"I was loyal to you for seven years!" Caleb spat, his face twisting with sudden rage. "Seven years of doing your dirty work! Cleaning up your messes! And what did I get? A quiet salary while you sat in your high tower playing high society king with your civilian wife! Victor offered me thirty percent of the shipping routes. Thirty percent!"

"You sold your honor for shipping docks?" Dorian tilted his head, his grey eyes dead and empty. "You poisoned my whiskey for two years for thirty percent?"

Caleb's eyes widened slightly. "You know about the poison?"

"I knew three weeks ago," Dorian replied coldly. "Why do you think I let Vance send those divorce papers? I needed you to think I was weak. I needed you to think the poison had destroyed my brain so you would make your move with Valenti."

Caleb's composure cracked. He raised his gun. "It doesn't matter! You're outnumbered, wounded, and your car is dead!"

"Am I?" Dorian smiled—a dark, terrifying expression that sent a visible shiver through the mercenaries standing behind Caleb.

From the shadows of the surrounding alleyways, headlights suddenly cut through the darkness.

One, two, five, ten dark vehicles swept into the underpass, blocking every exit route. Dozens of armed men in black tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, their weapons instantly locking onto Caleb and his four mercenaries.

At the head of the convoy stepped Noah’s brother, Dominic—the leader of the Cross syndicate's enforcement division, whom Caleb believed was stationed in Miami.

"You thought Noah was my only loyal lieutenant, Caleb?" Dorian said quietly as thirty laser sights painted red dots across Caleb's chest. "You were the mole. But Dominic was the trap."

Caleb fell to his knees in the puddles, his gun slipping from his trembling fingers into the mud.

"Dorian... please," Caleb begged, his voice high and shrill. "We were brothers!"

Dorian walked up to him, looking down with cold disinterest.