Page 7 of Hard Bargain

The logic was simple and, under normal circumstances, unquestionable. A witness to a murder didn’t walk away—not if he intended to maintain control over the world he’d built. Loose ends weren’t tolerated and risks were eliminated. That was how order was maintained.

Until tonight.

For reasons he hadn’t fully examined, he’d allowed an exception.

Dominic didn’t shy away from violence. He’d never pretended to be anything other than what he was. When someone betrayed him or overstepped a boundary that had been clearly defined, he handled it without hesitation.

There was clarity in that kind of action. He relished in the brutal finality of it. Business meetings bored him. Public appearances required patience. Even expansion deals, while useful, rarely intrigued him for long. But the rush of power that came with making that final call? That was different. In those moments, he felt more alive than at any boardroom table or club opening.

There was a difference, though, between necessary violence and pointless waste. The man he’d shot in the alley had earned his death. Selling scraps of intel for a quick payout was a form of betrayal Dominic didn’t tolerate.

Killing the boy would’ve been something else entirely. He would’ve done it without hesitation or remorse, but it wouldn’t have been the same kind of decision. But tonight, for reasons he didn’t understand, he’d broken one of his own rules. And for what? A boy with interesting eyes and dark curls, who looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in years?

He pushed the report aside; the numbers were irrelevant now. Instead, he turned his chair, his gaze shifting past the desk and toward the city beyond the window. The lights blinked against the dark, marking a territory he owned in ways most people would never comprehend.

Somewhere out there, Knox was likely still awake, replaying what he’d seen, his body slow to come down from the shock of it.

Dominic considered that, his thumb brushing absently along the edge of his lower lip. Most people’s fear diminished them. It reduced them to something predictable. The boy’s had not. It had made him… fascinating. Dominic didn’t like that word. It implied attention he hadn’t chosen to give.

“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured, the words barely louder than a breath.

There would have to be an answer. Letting him walk had created a situation that demanded follow-up. You didn’t set a piece on the board and then ignore where it moved.

Knox owed him now. That alone ensured they would meet again. Debts weren’t theoretical in Dominic’s world. They were tangible, and always collected.

When he saw the boy again, he would decide what he was: a liability, or an asset worth keeping.

* * *

Dominic woke the way he always did: fully and abruptly, his mind snapping to awareness the moment consciousness returned.

Only today, he woke up already annoyed. He sat up and dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t get many bad nights, but last night had dug its claws in.

The second he opened his eyes, the same thought slammed right back into place.

I should’ve killed the boy.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, already moving before the thought could settle any further. He pulled clean clothes from the dresser without wasting time. He never had patience for slow mornings, especially when unfinished business was clawing at him from the inside out.

Once dressed, he stepped out into the main space of his luxurious loft, crossing the room with purposeful strides, not bothering to look around. The place was exactly the way he’d left it: immaculate, ordered, and untouched by anything that didn’t belong.

He moved straight to the kitchen, switching on the coffee machine before leaning back against the counter. The caffeine itself was irrelevant. What he needed was something to anchor his attention. Cup in hand, he moved toward the far end of the loft, where the windows spanned an entire wall. He took a slow sip, but it did little to settle his thoughts.

A soft hum carried through the loft—the elevator rising from the lower floors. Dominic didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. Only two people had unrestricted access to his private floor, and only one of them made a habit of showing up unannounced. His cousin and second-in-command: Cassian.

The entire building—once a massive warehouse near the port—had been stripped down and rebuilt to his specification. The top floor belonged to him alone, converted into the spacious, loft-style penthouse he now stood in.

Beneath it, the third floor was reserved for the few people he trusted enough to keep close. His cousin occupied one apartment, another lieutenant the second, while the third remained empty for whenever Dominic had use for it.

Below that, the operations floor held everything required to run his business: meeting rooms, offices, storage, and the fully equipped gym he and his men used to keep themselves in shape.

The ground level functioned as a garage, loading bay, and surveillance hub. No outsider ever made it past that first set of doors.

Below even that, the basement sat sealed off and reinforced. It was home to the interrogation rooms and holding cells, reserved for whatever business was better handled out of sight.

“You’re up early,” Cassian said as he stepped out of the elevator and into the living area. His expression was alert despite the early hour. The clear family resemblance was impossible to miss; the biggest difference was the easy grin his cousin usually wore, dimples and all.

“I always am,” Dominic replied, setting the cup aside. “And I have something to deal with.”