Seventeen Women Ran From the Korean Mafia Boss, but a Woman Looked Him in the Eye and Made Him Fear Himself Instead

The sun was just beginning to streak the Seattle skyline with bruised shades of purple and gray as Daniel’s Mercedes roared back into the city limits, bypassing the highway patrols and taking the underground service tunnels straight into the sub-basement of Crescent Harbor Logistics tower.

Naomi sat in the passenger seat, her jaw set. She was no longer just a bystander; she was a co-conspirator in the most dangerous corporate war in the Pacific Northwest.

“If Julian has the board in his pocket,” Naomi said as the SUV slid into a parking stall, “walking through the front doors won't work. They’ll have armed security waiting.”

“We aren't using the front doors,” Daniel said, unholstering a sleek, suppressed pistol from his shoulder harness and checking the magazine with a sharp *clack*. He handed her a smaller, compact Kimber micro-nine.

Naomi stared at the weapon resting on her palm. “Daniel, I’m a nurse. I save lives, I don't—”

“You know how to apply pressure to stop bleeding, and you know how to pull a trigger if someone tries to kill you,” Daniel interrupted, his voice fiercely gentle. “Hold it. Keep it in your jacket. I pray to God you don't have to use it.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the grip of the pistol, sliding it into her coat pocket.

They took the freight elevator up to the 42nd floor—the executive boardroom. The elevator chime dinged softly, and the heavy mahogany doors slid open.

Standing in the expansive, glass-walled corridor were four of Julian Thorne’s private security guards, blocking the entrance to the boardroom.

The guards reached for their sidearms the second they saw Daniel.

They never got the chance to draw.

Daniel moved like a phantom. Two rapid, suppressed shots echoed down the hallway—*pfft, pfft*—and the lead guards collapsed instantly. Before the remaining two could react, Daniel closed the distance, disarming one with a brutal roundhouse kick and sweeping the other into the glass wall.

He didn't kill them; he left them slumped unconscious on the carpet.

Naomi watched in stunned silence. The sheer, terrifying lethality of the man beside her was breathtaking.

“Stay behind me,” Daniel murmured, stepping up to the massive double doors of the boardroom.

Inside, through the frosted glass, muffled voices could be heard arguing over financial documents. Julian Thorne’s crisp, confident voice cut through the room: *“Gentlemen, Daniel Han is a fugitive. If we don’t sign these papers now, the federal government will seize every asset this company owns.”*