Blood on polished marble had never made Jonah Pierce lose his appetite.

The rain had turned into a thick, misty fog by six o'clock that evening. The Brooklyn Navy Yard was a ghost town of rusting cranes, decaying brick structures, and the distant, low horn of cargo ships navigating the East River.

A single black sedan pulled up outside an abandoned textile warehouse near the water. Jonah Pierce stepped out into the damp cold, buttoning his long wool coat. Wyatt stood beside him, holding an umbrella over his head, while four heavily armed men from Jonah’s personal security team emerged from a second vehicle.

Inside the warehouse, the air smelled of salt, mildew, and copper. High above, shattered skylights let in the dim grey evening light.

Arthur Vance sat on a rusted metal chair near a row of wooden crates, flanked by three muscular enforcers. At his feet, bound with heavy rope and sitting in a puddle of dirty water, was Dean Keller.

Dean was a mess. His lip was split, his left eye swollen shut, and his breathing was jagged. When he heard footsteps echoing across the concrete floor, he raised his good eye.

When he saw Jonah Pierce, a sudden spark of pathetic hope lit up his face.

“Jonah!” Dean rasped, coughing up blood onto the floor. “Jonah, thank God! You got my payment, right? Stella brought you the fifty grand! Tell Vance we’re good!”

Jonah didn't look at Dean. He walked directly toward Arthur Vance, stopping three feet away.

Vance stood up, a greasy smile spreading across his weathered face. “Jonah. Didn't expect the King of Midtown to cross the river for a pathetic piece of trash like Keller.”

“Vance,” Jonah acknowledged with a brief nod. “Wyatt.”

Wyatt stepped forward, opening a metal briefcase to reveal stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Forty-five thousand. Full principal plus your late fee.”

Vance eyed the cash, his smile widening. “Generous. I knew Keller was a scumbag, but I didn't know he had friends in high places.”

“He doesn't,” Jonah said softly. “The money isn't for him. It’s for your inconvenience. Keller’s debt is now mine. Unbind him.”

Vance signaled his men, who quickly sliced the ropes around Dean’s wrists and ankles. Dean scrambled to his feet, clutching his bruised ribs, stumbling toward Jonah with a grotesque, relieved grin.

“Jonah... man, I don't know what to say,” Dean babbled, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his sleeve. “I knew you were a man of business. I knew you’d see the value in keeping me around. Listen, about Stella—she’s at your place, right? I can go pick her up, we can get back to business—”

Before Dean could finish his sentence, Jonah turned and struck him.

The blow was precise, silent, and brutal. Jonah’s closed fist slammed directly into Dean’s solar plexus.

Dean let out a wet gasp, the air exploding from his lungs as his knees buckled. He collapsed back into the puddle of water, retching uncontrollably, clutching his stomach as he fought to breathe.

Jonah stood over him, unbuttoning his coat cuffs and slowly rolling back his sleeves.

“Stand up,” Jonah commanded quietly.

“Jonah... please...” Dean sobbed from the concrete floor, blood and tears mixing on his cheeks. “What... what did I do?”

“You hit a woman,” Jonah said, his voice dropping into a register that made even Vance’s men step back into the shadows. “You hit a woman who had no one to defend her. You broke her ribs. You stole her mother’s legacy. And then you sent her into my house, bleeding and terrified, to do your dirty work.”

Jonah reached down, grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket, and hoisted him off the floor with effortless force, slamming him back against a rusted steel pillar.

“Jonah, wait!” Dean screamed, terror finally shattering his arrogance. “She’s my girlfriend! She belongs to me! You can't do this over a girl!”

“She belongs to no one,” Jonah hissed, his face inches from Dean’s. “And if you ever speak her name again, if you ever step onto the island of Manhattan, or if you ever look in her direction, I will not send my men. I will come for you myself, and I will ensure that the rest of your life is spent inside a tiny room with no windows.”

Jonah threw Dean to the floor like a sack of trash.

He turned to Wyatt. “Give him five hundred dollars. Put him on a bus to Chicago tonight. If he leaves the bus before it hits Illinois, shoot him.”