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The ink on the adoption papers was barely dry in the secret biometric vault fifty floors above the city, but the target was already painted. Vincent Crowe—the Wolf—did not know that his deepest vulnerability had just been digitized, sold, and weaponized before the boy, Leo, even woke up in the master suite. / Chapter 6 / 20

Chapter 6 - The Confession in the GarageThe subterranean garage was cold, dim, and echoing with the distant hum of ventilation fans. The heavy black armored SUV sat idling, its exhaust pipes puffing white smoke into the damp air.

Miller stood by the open driver’s door, tapping nervously on his tablet. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and forced a tight, professional smile.

"Boss. Thought you were staying upstairs with the boy."

Vincent walked slowly out of the shadows, his long black overcoat sweeping behind him like the wings of a vulture. He didn't speak. He just stopped five feet away, his cold, gray eyes locked onto Miller's face.

Miller swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the security cameras overhead. "Is something wrong, Boss?"

"Twelve years, Miller," Vincent said, his voice disturbingly calm. "You sat at my table. You drank my whiskey. You watched me build this life from ash."

Miller's face paled. The tablet slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete floor. "Boss, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" Vincent stepped closer, his presence suffocatingly heavy. "That Vance promised you a slice of the empire? That you traded the life of a six-year-old boy for a bank account you'll never live to spend?"

"They would have killed me, Vincent!" Miller screamed, his composure snapping as he drew his sidearm. "Vance has connections to the international syndicate! We couldn't beat them! I did it to save us all!"

Vincent didn't even flinch as the barrel of the pistol pointed at his chest.

"You didn't save anyone, Miller," Vincent whispered.

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The coffee had gone completely cold, but I didn't pour it out. I wrapped both hands around the heavy ceramic mug, feeling the chill sink straight into my palms. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of sleeping beside a man who had mastered the art of the long, slow lie.

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From the shadows behind the pillars, two enforcers stepped out silently, each raising a silenced weapon. Before Miller could pull his trigger, twin puffs of smoke erupted, and Miller crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide and lifeless in the concrete dust.

Vincent didn't look down at the body. He pulled out his phone. "Julian. Clean up the garage. And prep my private jet. We're leaving the city."

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