Page 49

From the shadowed catwalk above, a figure emerged—tall, lethally elegant, emanating an aura of controlled violence that made even Keiran's presence seem mild by comparison.

"Impossible," Berto whispered, genuine fear crossing his face for the first time.

Benny simply stared, speechless.

"Le Dauphin Tueur," one of their men whispered, his gun trembling visibly now.

The Prince of Killers descended the metal stairs with unhurried grace, each footstep echoing like a death knell. Unlike the Castellos with their flashy suits and gaudy jewelry, he wore simple black, the quality apparent only to those who knew what to look for. His presence, however, needed no adornment.

"I wasn't aware the Castellos had business in Connecticut," the Dauphin said, his accent a subtle reminder of European origins. "Especially not with my associate."

Keiran gave no sign of surprise at the Dauphin's appearance. They had never worked together directly before, but their interests had aligned on occasion. This, apparently, was one of those occasions.

"Your associate?" Benny found his voice, though it cracked on the second word.

"Did you think de Laigny operates independently?" The Dauphin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "How... provincial."

Keiran observed the silent terror spreading across the Castellos' faces. The Dauphin's reputation preceded him—not just as a killer, but as something else entirely. An enforcer of boundaries. A shadow that fell across those who disrupted the delicate balance of power.

"We didn't know," Berto said, his face ashen. "We wouldn't have—"

"You wouldn't have what?" The Dauphin circled them slowly. "Wouldn't have come uninvited into territory under my protection? Wouldn't have threatened a family under de Laigny's protection? Wouldn't have been so incredibly stupid?"

Keiran stepped forward. "The Quinns are not worth bloodshed." He glanced at the Dauphin, a silent communication passing between them. "But the Castellos' attempt to breach my home cannot go unanswered."

"Agreed." The Dauphin turned his attention back to the Castellos. "Sicily. Permanent retirement. Your legitimate businesses remain yours, but you relinquish all operations on the East Coast."

It wasn't a negotiation. It was a verdict.

Berto understood this immediately. "We'll need assurances—"

"The only assurance you need," the Dauphin cut in, "is that you'll leave this building with your lives. Whether that remains true tomorrow depends entirely on how quickly you disappear."

Benny opened his mouth to protest, but Berto gripped his arm hard enough to bruise.

"We accept your terms," Berto said, the words leaving him like a surrender.

The Dauphin gestured to one of the corners. A man—whom Keiran hadn't even noticed was there—emerged with a briefcase, opening it to reveal documents already prepared.

"Sign," the Dauphin ordered.

The Castellos' hands shook as they signed away their empire.

When the warehouse emptied, leaving only Keiran and the Dauphin, the tension in the air shifted from deadly to merely dangerous.

"I didn't request your intervention," Keiran said, straightening his cuffs. "But I appreciate it nonetheless."

The Dauphin's expression softened fractionally. "Consider it a favor to Jacques. He speaks highly of you."

Jacques—the Dauphin's cousin. Keiran had worked with him once, years ago. "How is he?"

"Happily married. Expecting a child." A shadow crossed the Dauphin's face. "But that's not why I'm here."

"I assumed as much."

"Viktor Biancardi's sister. You married her."

What the hell?