She Missed Work Without A Word—The Mafia Boss Found Her Broken On The Floor At Home

Arthur Cain looked down at the laminated plastic card lying in the puddle at his knees, seeing Isa's smiling face under the bright blue logo of Valon Global.

"A... a waitress?" Arthur gasped out, tears of shock and fury mixing with the rainwater on his face. "You destroyed my family... for a fucking secretary?!"

Rhett didn't blink. He pulled his tactical pistol from his shoulder holster, racking the slide with a sharp, heavy clack that echoed through the vast warehouse.

"She isn't a secretary, Arthur," Rhett whispered softly. "She's mine."

PHFT.

A single suppressed round ended Arthur Cain's reign over the Chicago port authority.

The silver-haired man collapsed forward onto the cold concrete, his body going still beside the laminated ID card.

Rhett lowered his weapon, setting the safety with a quiet click, turning his back on the fallen man without a second glance.

"Clean the floor," Rhett commanded Marcus as he walked toward the warehouse exit. "Transfer the port concessions to our primary shell company by six AM."

"Understood, Mr. Valon," Marcus replied bowing his head. "And what about Tyler Cain?"

Rhett stopped near the heavy steel doors, the cold rain blowing against his dark coat.

"Leave Tyler alive," Rhett ordered, his voice echoing in the dark. "Let him wake up in that hospital tomorrow and realize he has no money, no father, and no future in this city. That is a far better punishment."

Ten minutes later, Rhett's black SUV rolled away from the docks, leaving Pier 42 behind in the dark storm.

Rhett sat in the rear cabin, pulling out his clean white handkerchief to wipe the light mist from his weapon before holster it back under his jacket.

He pulled out his private phone and dialed the estate's internal line.

It rang once.

"Rhett?" Isa's voice came through the speaker, soft, warm, and anxious.