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

The heavy double doors splintered inward, crashing against the walnut conference table with a thunderous bang.

Every head in the boardroom whipped around.

Julian Thorne stood at the head of the table, a fountain pen frozen in his manicured hand, his immaculate tie slightly askew. Sitting around the mahogany table were the seven board members of Crescent Harbor Logistics, their faces pale with shock.

“Daniel,” Julian choked out, color draining entirely from his face. “You... you’re supposed to be—at the bottom of the Sound.”

Daniel walked slowly into the room, his long charcoal overcoat trailing behind him like the wings of a predatory bird. Every step he took echoed in the dead silence of the boardroom. Naomi walked right beside him, her head held high, radiating a quiet, unshakeable dignity that commanded as much attention as Daniel’s lethal aura.

“You always underestimated my reach, Julian,” Daniel said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. He tossed a heavy, encrypted flash drive onto the center of the mahogany table, right beside Julian’s forged documents. “That drive contains every wire transfer, every shell corporation, and every encrypted chat log proving you embezzled thirty million dollars and tried to frame me for federal crimes.”

Julian’s hands began to tremble. He looked around the table at the board members, whose expressions had shifted from confusion to absolute outrage as they stared at the financial data flashing on the built-in projector screen, which Daniel’s remote uplink had just activated.

“It’s a forgery!” Julian shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “He’s a criminal! He runs guns and drugs through these docks!”

“I run shipping lanes, Julian,” Daniel said, stepping right up to the head of the table, towering over his former COO. “You? You’re just a rat trying to steal cheese from a tiger.”

Julian lunged backward, his hand darting toward his briefcase to pull out a hidden handgun.

He didn't even clear the holster.

Daniel’s hand shot out like a striking viper, grabbing Julian by the throat and slamming him down onto the conference table with enough force to shatter the glass surface beneath them. Julian gasped for air, his eyes rolling back as Daniel pressed the barrel of his suppressed pistol directly against the bridge of his nose.

“Do it,” Julian whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Kill me.”

Daniel stared down at him, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. The silence in the room was absolute. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the execution.

A hand touched Daniel’s shoulder.

It was Naomi.

Her fingers were warm, steady, and firm against the cold wool of his coat. She looked into his dark, bloodshot eyes.

“Don't,” Naomi whispered softly. “He’s not worth your soul, Daniel. Let the law take him. Let the feds tear him apart.”

Daniel froze. He looked at Naomi’s face—so calm, so centered, so completely unafraid of him or his wrath. Slowly, the murderous rage receded from his eyes, replaced by an overwhelming, agonizing wave of gratitude.

Daniel pulled the gun away from Julian’s face, holstering it smoothly. He grabbed Julian by the collar and hauled him to his feet, shoving him toward the two armed corporate compliance officers standing by the doorway.