Dominic didn’t toss a wrench onto the floor.

He tossed a slim black folder. It slid to a stop against Preston’s knee. Preston flinched as if it were a live coal.

“That’s a copy,” Dominic said, his voice dropping to a terrifying quiet. “The originals are already with the district attorney.

Inside is every account you’ve drained, every threat you made on tape, the deed you tried to extort, and the footage of my daughter climbing down a fire escape in the rain in her wedding dress to escape you.

There is no lawyer on this coast good enough to make that disappear. Believe me. I checked. I own two of them.” From the shadows of the condo’s long hallway, Lily emerged.

She was no longer the crying, broken bride in a ruined dress. She wore a sharp, tailored black coat, her bruised face held high, her posture straight as an arrow.

She walked forward, flanked by the two most formidable people in the city, and stopped just out of arm’s reach of the man who had tried to have her killed. She didn’t carry a weapon.