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PROLOGUE
Constantine
Eight and a half years earlier
Violence.
It was a necessary evil, although after taking the position as leader of the Thorn Corporation, I’d managed to keep acts of brutality to a minimum.
Not today.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the great Constantine Thorn.” His boisterous laugh barely registered in the soundproof room, but it grated my nerves just the same. He stood just off the main door near one of the bars, holding a mostly empty snifter.
Dominick Montoya was many things, his family owning a dozen influential corporations. He was considered a pillar of society, a man without reproach. However, as he stood in one of my esteemed private suites, his poker winnings close to a million dollars, he was nothing more than a typical thief. I was surprised he’d had the balls to request a place at the table, using the very influence that had brought him great wealth to push another member aside. I’d allowed it for a single reason.
To be able to exact needed revenge.
I glanced at my lieutenant and smiled easily. Tristen Ward had followed my orders, plying the man with expensive cognac until I’d been able to arrive, making small talk as if tonight was nothing more than expressing small gestures of gratitude for a job well done.
Bullshit.
“Mr. Montoya. I’m glad you could join us tonight. I understand you did well,” I said casually as I approached, the door closing behind me. I’d had reservations about hiring him as a broker, but my father had insisted, citing there’d never been an issue as to the product supplied.
Until now.
Everyone played a game, usually when they believed their opponent was so comfortable in their surroundings that they wouldn’t notice the discrepancies. I noticed everything, taking careful count of what was owed. As a businessman with no patience, I couldn’t tolerate being lied to or stolen from.
He’d done both.
“Yes. It would seem your special players were inferior. I always win at business and pleasure.”
I extended my hand, keeping the smile as I closed the distance, walking around him as if prepared to make myself a drink. The bartender had already been sent away, the floor removed of other employees. They didn’t need to experience the worst part of my job.
He believed his posh suite was waiting for him, complete with one of our finest escorts hand-picked for his dark proclivities. The truth was I wouldn’t allow anyone to slide into bed with the man. He was sick, repulsive in every way. Few knew his real sexual tastes. I’d discovered everything about him.
Dominick deserved to die for an additional reason that had nothing to do with his treachery.
As I shook his hand, my grip firm, I looked him square in the eye. “Mr. Montoya. Unfortunately, you crossed the wrong man.”
While he narrowed his eyes, his body language suggested he was reaching for his weapon.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I told him and reached into my pocket.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, still playing the guessing game.
While I knew he likely expected me to pull evidence of how he’d sorted the crates of arms he’d had delivered, that wasn’t my style. Instead, I presented vivid photographs of his extracurricular activities. “You are a very sick man, Dominick. The worst kind of rodent on this earth.”
As his gaze swept from my face to the picture, his eyes opened wide. Then he had the audacity to smile. “What I do in my personal life is my business.”
“You’re right. However, since you’re on my property, drinking my liquor and toying with my employees, your business has become mine. And I don’t accept your repulsive behavior.” There was no reason for additional foreplay. I yanked my Beretta into my hand, the silencer intact. And just because I was pissed, I pulled the trigger twice, both bullets hitting him right between the eyes.
As I spouted off how he would be welcomed in hell seconds before ending his life, the door was swung open, an unwanted visitor walking inside.
The scream was muffled, but decidedly female.
As Dominick’s eyes clouded over, his body slumping to the floor, I caught a split second of the witness, her face and torso covered in blood and brain matter. Then she disappeared.
“What the fuck?” Tristen snarled, his weapon already in his hand as he raced toward the door. “What do you want me to do?”
