Chapter 7
The two bodyguards didn't hesitate for another second. The threat in Tristan’s deep, controlled voice was absolute and terrifying. They stepped forward in unison, moving with the brutal efficiency of men desperate to prove their loyalty to the winning side.
"No! Get your hands off me!" Sabine screamed as the massive men grabbed her roughly by the arms. The luxurious burgundy velvet of her evening gown tore slightly at the shoulder under their unforgiving grip. "You work for me! My father pays your bonuses! Let me go!"
"We work for the Boss, ma'am," the Black American guard stated coldly, securing her flailing left arm behind her back.
"Tristan, you cannot do this!" Sabine shrieked, thrashing wildly, her expensive heels slipping against the cream marble floor. "I have documents! I have proof of your money laundering operations! If I disappear, my lawyers will release everything to the feds! You will spend the rest of your life in a supermax prison!"
Tristan stood perfectly still, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored dark trousers. The artistic tattoos on his neck shifted as he tilted his head, regarding her with an expression of profound boredom.
"Do you honestly believe I would allow a woman as calculating as you into my home without first identifying and neutralizing every piece of leverage you thought you held?" Tristan asked slowly.
Sabine froze, her chest heaving as she stared at him in absolute horror.
"My men raided your lawyer's office three hours ago," Tristan continued, his voice echoing in the vast, empty hall. "Your contingency files are currently burning in an incinerator on the east side of the city. You have no leverage, Sabine. You have no protection. You have only the consequences of your actions."
The color completely drained from Sabine's fair, rosy skin. The realization that she had been utterly outmaneuvered, that the mafia boss had known about her blackmail attempts long before tonight, crushed the last remnants of her defiance. She collapsed to her knees, dragged back up only by the brute strength of the two guards holding her.
"Please, Tristan," Sabine wept, abandoning her pride entirely. "I'll leave the country. You'll never see me again. Just let me walk away."
"Who was the doctor at the clinic?" Tristan asked, entirely ignoring her pleas. "Give me the names of the staff you bribed to falsify the death certificate."
"I... I can't," Sabine sobbed.
"You will give me the names, Sabine," Tristan said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "Or I will instruct my men to start breaking your fingers one by one until your memory improves."
Sabine gasped, looking at his cold, unwavering eyes. "Dr. Aris Thorne. And the head nurse, Margaret Linley. They took the money. They forged the documents."
May you like
Tristan nodded slowly, committing the names to the darkest, most violent corner of his mind. The clinic staff would be dealt with before morning.
"Take her to the soundproof holding cells in the sub-basement," Tristan commanded the guards. "Ensure the temperature is dropped, and strip her of all jewelry and communication devices."
