Chapter 4 - The Billionaire's Wrath
The blinding headlights completely washed out the dark alleyway. Four massive, heavily muscled men in dark tactical jackets stepped out of the SUV, blocking the only exit.
"Well, well," the lead thug sneered aggressively, cracking his knuckles as he stepped into the rain. "Looks like the billionaire decided to play hero. Marcus said you might be a problem. Step away from the woman, old man, and we'll let you walk back to your expensive steak."
Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't cower. The fifty-something billionaire slowly took off his tailored suit jacket, wrapping it gently around Clare’s shivering shoulders to keep her warm.
He stood up to his full, towering height. His graying hair clung to his forehead in the freezing rain, his dark eyes radiating pure, unfiltered, and utterly demonic fury.
"You made a massive miscalculation tonight," Vincent stated clinically, his deep voice carrying a freezing, lethal frequency that completely dominated the stormy alleyway.
"Oh yeah?" the thug laughed cruelly, pulling a heavy steel baton from his jacket. "And what's that?"
"You assumed I'm just a billionaire," Vincent whispered coldly.
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Before the thug could even swing the baton, Vincent lunged forward with blinding, terrifying, and absolute precision. He wasn't a soft corporate CEO. Twenty years ago, before he built his financial empire, Vincent was a highly decorated, lethal special forces operative.
👉 In less than thirty seconds, the entire alleyway was completely painted with the blood of the corrupt strike team.
