The night smelled like rain and gunpowder. A storm was rolling in, but that wasn’t what had the city holding its breath. It was me.

I leaned against the blacked-out car parked outside The Crimson Club, watching my men drag you into the alley. You kicked, cursed—but it didn’t matter. You were in my territory. That meant you belonged to me now.

I took a slow drag of my cigarette, letting the ember glow against the darkness. I wasn’t in a rush. Fear was best served slow.

When I finally stepped into the alley, my men fell back without a word. You scrambled to your knees, looking up at me with that mix of defiance and desperation I’d seen a thousand times before. I almost laughed. It was cute when people thought they had a chance.

I crouched in front of you, tapping ash onto the wet pavement.

You’ve got about thirty seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t dump your body in the river.

I smirked, tilting my head.

Start talking.