Aiden Knight's POV
"I can't call him." Leo's whisper comes out strangled, blood still trickling from his split lip. "If I tell my father to kneel... he'll kill me himself."
I study his terrified face with cold detachment. "Then you have a choice. Die here by my hand, or take your chances with daddy."
Before Leo can respond, Chloe appears at my elbow. Her hand slides into mine, pressing something small and metallic into my palm. Car keys.
"Aiden," she whispers urgently. "My savings account. I have two hundred thousand. Take it. Take my car. Just leave. Please."
I look down at her, genuinely surprised. This woman barely knows me, yet she's willing to sacrifice everything she has to save my life. The keys feel warm in my palm, heated by her desperate grip.
"You think I need to run?"
"From the Graves family? Yes!" Her voice cracks with emotion. "Oscar Graves has connections everywhere. Politicians, judges, police chiefs. He owns half the city council. When he finds out what you did to Leo..."
I close her fingers around the keys, pushing them back toward her. "I'm not leaving you here."
"I'll be fine. He wants revenge on you, not me." Tears glisten in her eyes. "Please, Aiden. I couldn't bear watching you die."
The raw emotion in her voice does something to my chest, making it tight. Five years of brutal training taught me to suppress every weakness, every sentiment that could be exploited. But this woman's willingness to sacrifice herself for me... it's undoing something inside me.
"I made you a promise," I say quietly. "No one hurts you while I'm alive."
Before she can argue further, the ballroom's main doors explode open with such force that the carved wooden panels splinter against the walls. The crash echoes through the silent room like thunder.
Oscar Graves strides through the wreckage, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. He's a mountain of a man, six and a half feet tall with shoulders that strain his custom Italian suit. His gray hair is slicked back, revealing a face carved from granite and eyes like chips of black ice.
But it's not Oscar who makes my instincts sharpen. It's the procession behind him.
A dozen men in black suits flow into the room like a dark tide. Each one moves with the predatory grace of trained killers. Their eyes scan the crowd with professional detachment, cataloging exits and potential threats.
Behind them walks a young man who can only be Leo's older brother. He has the same weak chin and cruel mouth, but there's something harder in his eyes. Something that suggests he's inherited more of daddy's steel.
And bringing up the rear...
I feel the familiar tingle along my spine that signals danger. Real danger.
The old man looks harmless enough at first glance. Medium height, thin build, wearing a simple gray robe that seems out of place among all the expensive suits. His face is deeply lined, his white hair pulled back in a traditional topknot. He walks with the careful steps of advanced age.
But his eyes. His eyes are alert and calculating, sweeping the room with the practiced gaze of a predator. When they land on me, they narrow slightly.
A martial artist. And not some weekend warrior playing at combat. This old man radiates the kind of quiet lethality that only comes from decades of killing.
"Leo!" Oscar's voice booms across the ballroom, making several guests flinch. "What the hell happened here?"
Leo staggers toward his father, nearly tripping over the unconscious bodyguard still sprawled beside the buffet table. Blood has dried on his chin, and his expensive suit is wrinkled and stained.
"Father, I..." He glances back at me nervously. "There was a misunderstanding."
Oscar's granite face darkens as he takes in the scene. Three bodyguards down. His son bloodied and terrified. Broken furniture scattered across the marble floor. His black eyes sweep the cowering crowd until they lock onto me.
I'm calmly cutting another piece of steak, as if armed gunmen haven't just invaded the room.
"You," Oscar growls. "You did this to my son?"
I chew thoughtfully before answering. "Your son has poor table manners. I gave him a lesson in respect."
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Even some of Oscar's bodyguards look shocked. Nobody talks to Oscar Graves like that. Not if they want to keep breathing.
Oscar's face goes purple with rage. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with, boy?"
"Oscar Graves. Head of the Graves family. Construction mogul. City council member." I take another bite of steak. "Man who thinks his money makes him untouchable."
The temperature in the room seems to plummet. Oscar's hands clench into fists the size of bowling balls. Several of his bodyguards reach inside their jackets.
"Leo," Oscar says without taking his eyes off me. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Leo swallows hard. "He... he attacked me, Father. For no reason. I was just talking to Chloe Pierce, and he went crazy. Called you names. Said terrible things about our family."
I notice how he leaves out the part about forcing Chloe to drink from his contaminated glass. Typical coward, rewriting history to make himself the victim.
Oscar nods slowly. "I see." He turns to address the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for this disruption. Please, continue enjoying your evening. This won't take long."
His tone is perfectly civilized, but something in it makes the guests press themselves even further against the walls. A few edge toward the exits, only to find Oscar's bodyguards blocking their path.
"Now then," Oscar returns his attention to me. "Since you seem determined to disrespect my family, let me make something clear. You have one chance to salvage this situation. Get down on your knees. Kowtow to my son three times. Beg for forgiveness. Do this, and I might let you leave here with all your limbs intact."
I set down my fork and knife with deliberate precision. "And if I refuse?"
Oscar's smile is colder than a grave in winter. "Then I'll make sure your death takes a very, very long time."
The threat hangs in the air like a toxic cloud. I can feel Chloe trembling beside me, her hand gripping my arm so tightly her knuckles are white.
I stand up slowly, brushing imaginary crumbs from my shirt. The simple action seems to galvanize Oscar's bodyguards. They step forward as one, hands moving to weapons concealed beneath their jackets.
They make it exactly three steps before I move.
My body becomes a blur of controlled violence. The first bodyguard reaches for his gun and finds my fist connecting with his solar plexus. The impact lifts him off his feet and sends him crashing into his companions like a human bowling ball.
The second man tries to draw a knife. I grab his wrist and twist. The wet snap of breaking bone mingles with his scream as the blade clatters uselessly to the floor.
A third bodyguard lunges at me from behind. Without turning around, I drive my elbow backward into his ribs. The sound is like kindling snapping in a fire. He doubles over, gasping for air that won't come.
In less than ten seconds, all twelve of Oscar's men are down. Some unconscious, others writhing in agony, all completely neutralized.
The ballroom is dead silent except for the groans of the injured and the sound of my footsteps as I return to my seat.
I pick up my fork and resume eating. "Your men need better training."
Oscar stares at the carnage with undisguised shock. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Beside him, Leo has gone completely white, swaying on his feet like he might faint.
"Elder Kane," Oscar's voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. "What... what is he?"
The old man in the gray robe steps forward, his calculating eyes never leaving my face. When he speaks, his voice carries the authority of decades.
"A martial artist," he says simply. "But young. Inexperienced. His technique is crude, relying on brute force rather than true skill."
I continue eating, letting them think whatever they want. Let the old man underestimate me. It will make what comes next so much more satisfying.
"Can you handle him?" Oscar asks, some of his confidence returning.
Elder Kane nods once. "Easily. He may have some natural talent, but he lacks proper training. A novice playing with power he doesn't understand."
Oscar's granite features relax into a cold smile. "Good." He turns back to me. "Since you refuse to show proper respect, I'll let Elder Kane teach you some manners. He's forgotten more about fighting than you'll ever know."
Elder Kane steps forward, his aged hands clasped behind his back. Despite his years, he moves with fluid grace, each step perfectly balanced.
"Young man," his voice carries across the silent ballroom. "You have some skill, I'll grant you that. But skill without wisdom is just brutality. Allow me to show you the difference."
I set down my fork and look up at him with mild interest. "You're welcome to try, old man."
Something flickers in Elder Kane's eyes. Surprise, perhaps, at my casual dismissal of his reputation. Or maybe anticipation. It's been a long time since anyone dared challenge him.
"Very well," he says softly. "But don't say I didn't warn you."