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HE TOUCHED THE WOLF'S WIFE: The Night Manhattan’s Darkest King Painted the Docks in Retribution / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - The Wolf Hunts

The private medical wing of the Rourke Penthouse was silent save for the steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a fetal heart rate monitor.

Kara lay on the bed, her eyes red, holding Daniel’s hand with a grip that threatened to cut off his circulation. Dr. Vance, Daniel’s personal, fiercely loyal physician, smiled warmly as he wiped the gel from her stomach.

"The baby is perfectly safe, Mrs. Rourke," Dr. Vance said, packing up his equipment. "The bruising on your neck is superficial. But you need rest. High stress is the enemy right now."

Daniel didn't speak until the doctor left the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand gently resting over her abdomen.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, looking into her eyes.

"I found out this morning," Kara whispered, a tear escaping down her cheek. "I wanted to tell you tonight. In the garden room. I wanted it to be perfect. I just wanted one hour to walk around feeling like a normal mom before the world caught up to us."

Daniel leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "You are normal. You are safe. I swear to you, Kara, the shadows of this city exist only to keep the light on you."

But as Kara drifted off to sleep under the influence of a mild sedative, Daniel’s face hardened into a mask of pure vengeance. He walked out of the bedroom and entered his private study, where Declan was waiting.

"Tell me about Moretti," Daniel commanded, pouring himself two fingers of scotch.

"Sal Moretti wants the North River pier contracts," Declan explained, showing a map on the digital display. "He knows he can't beat you in a fair bidding war. He figured if he could destabilize you—use your wife’s abusive ex to cause a public scandal or worse—you’d make a mistake. Moretti promised Mercer cash and a ticket out of the country if he took Kara."

Daniel downed his drink. The glass shattered against the hearth.

"Moretti thinks I am a businessman who plays by the rules when pushed," Daniel whispered, his voice dangerously low. "He forgets why they call me the Wolf. Call the crews. Every harbor, every warehouse, every truck owned by the Moretti family—burn them to the ground tonight."

"And Mercer?" Declan asked.

"Leave him in the dark. Let him wonder when I’m coming."

By midnight, Manhattan was burning. Not with fire, but with the ruthless efficiency of Rourke Maritime's enforces. Three of Moretti's supply ships were seized by federal agents tip-offs orchestrated by Daniel. Two major warehouses in Brooklyn mysteriously caught fire.

Sal Moretti was being bled dry, and he knew exactly who was holding the knife.

But inside his secure compound in Long Island, Sal Moretti wasn't panicking. He smiled as he looked at a security feed showing a black SUV approaching his gates.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

"Let Rourke burn the docks," Moretti sneered to his men. "He thinks he's winning. He doesn't know his precious wife is currently being watched by a second team."

THE HOOK: Daniel unleashed his entire army onto the city, leaving his own fortress vulnerable. Moretti didn't care about the warehouses—he wanted the ultimate leverage, and his assassins were already inside the Tribeca penthouse elevator.

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