Chapter 3 - THE SINGLE RAISED FINGER
Boss Marcus Sterling exhaled a thin, elegant stream of blue smoke from his thick, hand-rolled Cuban cigar.
The sweet aroma of aged tobacco drifted lazily across the white tablecloths, cutting through the stifling tension of the room.
Marcus lifted a single, ink-scarred finger into the air, signaling his elite security team to stand down immediately.
The two bodyguards stopped dead in their tracks, their heavy leather shoes squeaking softly against the polished marble floor.
Julian Vance whimpered from the ground, his forest green tie twisted awkwardly around his sweaty, pale neck.
"Do you... do you know who my father is?" Julian gasped out, spitting a speck of blood onto the pristine white tiles.
Marcus didn't deign the pathetic question with a direct verbal response, choosing instead to tap the ash from his cigar tip.
His dark, slicked-back hair caught the crystal chandelier light, casting sharp shadows over his heavily tattooed jawline.
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He leaned back deeper into the leather wingback chair, his burgundy suit jacket pulling slightly across his broad, powerful shoulders.
"Interesting... Nobody touches her," Marcus murmured softly, his voice carrying an acoustic weight that commanded absolute obedience.
