The Mafia Boss Abandoned a Million-Dollar War When His Secretary Whispered, “Come Get Me” — But the Real Betrayal Was Waiting Beside Him.

PART 4

The Neon Lounge appeared ahead, its pink sign flickering above a line of waiting cars.

Two bouncers stood beneath the awning.

Dante drove over the curb and struck the metal barricades in front of the entrance. The collision sent steel rails skidding across the sidewalk.

Silas swore.

Dante put the SUV in park. “You stay with the vehicle.”

“There are at least a dozen armed men in there.”

“I know.”

“Dante—”

But Dante was already outside.

Rain plastered his suit to his shoulders. He walked toward the entrance without drawing his weapon.

The larger bouncer stepped forward. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dante did not slow. The man reached for him. Dante caught his wrist, twisted him off balance, and drove him into the brick wall. The bouncer collapsed beneath the awning.

The second man had one hand inside his coat. Then he recognized Dante.

“Mr. Castellan.”

“Bathrooms.”

The bouncer’s eyes flicked toward his fallen partner. “Back hallway. Left side.”

Dante passed him.

Inside, music hit like a physical force. Strobe lights cut across a crowded dance floor. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat, perfume, and artificial fog.

Dante moved through the bodies with relentless purpose. People cursed when he pushed past them, then went silent after seeing his face.

He reached the back hallway. The women’s restroom door hung from one hinge. Splintered wood lay across the floor.

Dante entered.

Three stalls stood beneath flickering lights. The first two were empty. Everett Vale faced the third, holding a steel trash container above his shoulder.

“Come out,” Everett said. “You’re making this worse for yourself.”

“Put it down.”

Dante did not shout. He did not need to.

Everett froze. The trash container lowered slowly.

When he turned and saw Dante in the doorway, the color left his face.

“Castellan.”

Dante stepped inside and closed the damaged door as much as the broken hinge allowed.

Everett backed toward the stall. “This isn’t what you think.”

“You know what I think?”

“She misunderstood. We were talking, and she panicked.”

Dante walked closer. Water dripped from the hem of his coat.

“She told you to leave her alone.”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“You followed her into a locked restroom.”

“I needed information.”

“From my secretary.”

Everett swallowed. “It’s business.”

Dante stopped two feet away. “Business.”

“Marchetti wanted leverage. That’s all. Nobody intended to hurt her.”

Dante’s fist struck Everett before the man saw it move.

Everett staggered sideways into the partition.

He raised both arms, but Dante drove him against the wall and hit him again.

The violence was fast and brutal, driven less by rage than by a terrifying absence of restraint.

Everett fell to his knees.

Dante caught him by the collar. “Who gave you her name?”

Everett spat blood onto the tiles. “What?”

“Her name. Her photograph. Her schedule.”

“Go to hell.”

Dante pulled him upright. Everett attempted a desperate swing. His knuckles grazed Dante’s cheek before Dante slammed him into the sink.

The porcelain cracked. Everett collapsed.

Dante stood over him, breathing slowly. For one dangerous second, he considered finishing it.

Then something moved behind the stall door.

Priya was still listening.

Dante stepped away from Everett. “Priya.”

No answer.

He forced the violence back beneath his skin. “It’s me.”

A faint scrape came from inside.

“He can’t hurt you now.”

The lock slid back. The stall door opened several inches.