Dominic Rainer slapped a waitress in front of sixty wealthy guests for allegedly stealing his mother’s priceless watch

Dominic’s weapon rose instantly, the barrel of the submachine gun locking onto Julian’s chest.

“Step away from her, Julian,” Dominic growled.

Julian let out a shrill, hysterical bark of laughter that bounced crazily off the arched stone walls. “Or what, Dominic? You’ll shoot me? In front of your precious new saint? You don't have the guts. You’re a spreadsheet merchant who bought his way into high society!”

“You’re out of your mind, Julian,” Dominic said, taking a slow half-step to the right, deliberately positioning his torso into Julian’s line of fire to shield Charlotte. “The club is surrounded by Carver’s security and half the NYPD. You don't have an exit.”

“I have the only exit that matters!” Julian spat, his eyes bulging with terrified mania. “Victor Thorne’s personal transport is waiting at the end of the 53rd Street ramp! Thorne doesn't care about the terminals anymore. He told me if I bring him Augustus Carver’s daughter alive, he will wipe my thirty-million-dollar debt clean and wire me five million in bearer bonds to Zurich!”

Julian stepped forward, the barrel of his Beretta trembling with adrenaline. “Move aside, Dominic! Hand her over, and maybe Thorne lets you keep your miserable life!”

“Julian,” Charlotte said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

Julian’s eyes flicked to her for a split second. “Shut up! Don't speak to me, you little gutter rat!”

“My father’s men don't leave survivors when someone touches family, Julian,” she said, her voice dropping into that cold, aristocratic Carver tone that froze men’s marrow. “If you pull that trigger, there isn't an island on this planet where my father won't find you. You’ll spend three weeks dying in a basement in Red Hook while your family watches their assets auctioned off for pennies.”

Julian’s hand shook harder. The reality of who he was threatening was finally breaking through his cocaine-fueled panic. “I... I have no choice! Thorne will kill me!”

“You had a choice when you stole my mother’s watch,” Dominic said coldly. “You had a choice when you let an innocent girl take the blame for your theft. You made your bed, Julian.”

“Shut up!” Julian screamed.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Dominic didn't wait.

He didn't fire the submachine gun; the enclosed brick vault would turn high-velocity rounds into ricocheting shrapnel that could strike Charlotte.

Dominic lunged forward.

*BANG.*

The Beretta went off. The sound was deafening inside the stone chamber.

Dominic felt a punch like a sledgehammer strike the right side of his ribcage. The force knocked the wind from his lungs, a white-hot flare of agony exploding through his torso.

He didn't stop.

The momentum of his six-foot-three frame carried him directly into Julian. Dominic slammed his forehead into Julian’s face with bone-crushing force, breaking the man’s nose in an explosion of crimson.

Julian shrieked, dropping the gun as they crashed to the cold concrete floor.

Dominic pinned Julian beneath his knees. Despite the fire burning through his ribs, Dominic raised his right fist—the hand that had brought him so much dishonor tonight—and drove it into Julian’s jaw.

*Crack.*

Julian’s head whipped to the side.

Dominic raised his fist again. His teeth were bared, blood flecking his lips. “You used her,” Dominic snarled, his voice a ragged roar. “You used my name! You used my mother’s memory!”

He struck him again.

*Crack.*

Julian went completely limp, his eyes rolling back into his head, his face a ruined mask of blood and broken teeth.

Dominic raised his fist a third time, his chest heaving, his vision blurring around the edges as dark spots danced in his eyes. He was ready to cave the man’s skull into the floor.

“Dominic!”

A hand touched his shoulder.

It wasn't a violent grip. It was soft, cool, and firm.

Charlotte stood beside him. Her gray eyes looked down at him, not with fear, but with an intense, quiet understanding.

“Enough,” she whispered. “He’s done, Dominic. Look at me. He’s done.”

Dominic’s raised fist trembled in the air.

He looked at Julian’s unconscious body, then at Charlotte’s face.

The madness drained out of him. The rage that had driven him for fifteen years finally broke, leaving behind only an overwhelming, crushing exhaustion.

Dominic let his hand fall.

He rolled off Julian onto the cold concrete, gasping for breath as he pressed his palm against his right side. His fingers came away soaked in dark, thick arterial blood.

“Dominic!” Charlotte dropped to her knees beside him, her hands tearing at his silk shirt to expose the wound.

The bullet had entered two inches below his armpit, tearing through muscle and cracking a rib. The bleeding was heavy, bubbling slightly with every breath he took.

“I’m fine,” Dominic groaned, his voice weak. “Just... caught the paint.”

“You’re an idiot,” Charlotte said, her voice cracking for the first time tonight. She tore the sleeve from her own uniform shirt, balling the linen and pressing it down hard against the gunshot wound.

Dominic hissed through his teeth, his hand coming up to weakly cover hers over the wound.

“Charlotte...”

“Shut up,” she ordered, leaning over him, applying all her weight to staunch the flow. “Don't talk. You don't get to die in my basement after making that ridiculous speech.”

Heavy footsteps echoed down the ramp.

A dozen men poured into the vault—not Thorne’s mercenaries, but Carver’s security, led by Marcus and Augustus Carver himself.

Augustus stopped five feet away. He took in the scene with a single glance: Julian Vance unconscious and broken on the floor, the silver Beretta lying nearby, and Dominic Rainer bleeding out on the concrete while Charlotte fought to keep him alive.

Augustus stepped forward, his ebony cane striking the floor once.

*Clack.*

“Elena!” Augustus bellowed to the medical team behind him. “Get the trauma kit down here! Now!”

He looked down at Dominic.

For the first time in fifteen years, Augustus Carver looked at Dominic Rainer not as a debtor, not as an arrogant boy, but as an equal.

“You held the line, Dominic,” Augustus said quietly.

Dominic managed a faint, bloody smirk before the darkness finally closed in around his vision. “Told you... I remembered the lesson, Mr. Carver.”