Chapter 42: A Hidden Power

Elle strutted into the Camden house, her confidence at an all-time high.

“Dad, Mr. Steele practically admitted he’s into me!” she announced, flopping onto the couch and peeling off her heels. A cooling face mask covered her skin, but the smirk on her lips was unmistakable.

Herman beamed. “Of course he is! He turned you away because he was too distracted by your beauty—what else could that mean?”

Elle let out a smug chuckle. “Exactly.”

Herman leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “Since Mr. Steele wants someone else to handle the contract, we’ll send Drew instead.”

Across the room, Drew barely glanced up from his phone. A grin spread across his face as he read the latest message from Salvatore.

“That works out perfectly,” Drew muttered. “I was planning to go find that loser Jordan tomorrow anyway.”

---

Bangkok, Thailand

Salvatore sat stiffly in his seat, nervously watching his boss, Pablo Dalton, sip his drink. They were inside a dimly lit underground gym, where a brutal boxing match had just ended. The scent of sweat and alcohol filled the air.

“Mr. Dalton,” Salvatore said carefully.

Pablo didn’t even look at him. He took another slow sip, waiting until the roar of the crowd died down before speaking.

“You came all the way from Orlando,” Pablo finally said. “Something must have gone wrong.”

Salvatore nodded, swallowing hard. He was about to ask Pablo for help, but he already knew what was coming.

Pablo flicked the ash off his cigar and smirked. “Your businesses have been shut down, haven’t they? What do you have left? A dozen underlings?”

Salvatore winced. “Ten,” he admitted. “And today, Jordan Steele took them all down.”

CRACK!

Pablo slammed a cigar cutter against Salvatore’s head.

“You let some random punk destroy your crew? Do you know how much work I put into building that empire?” Pablo’s eyes burned with fury.

Salvatore didn’t dare move. He had seen Pablo in a rage before, and he knew better than to argue.

After a moment, Pablo sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“This is why I left Orlando,” he said. “The game has changed. You can’t just fight your way to the top anymore. These days, people want power. Influence.”

Salvatore nodded eagerly. “That’s why I need your help, Mr. Dalton. Just give me a hundred of your guys—I’ll go back to Orlando and handle Jordan Steele myself!”

Pablo chuckled, shaking his head. “You think you can fix everything with muscle? You don’t even understand who you’re up against.”

He pulled out his phone, dialing a number.

“Mr. Reyes,” Pablo said with deep respect. “I was planning to return to Orlando soon. I wanted to visit you—”

He suddenly froze. His expression shifted from calm to shock.

“You’re already in Orlando?”

Salvatore sat up straight. He had heard whispers about Mr. Reyes—the man Pablo answered to. But he had never met him.

Pablo’s tone turned serious. “Understood. I’ll be there soon.”

As he hung up, he turned to Salvatore, his smirk returning.

“Forget your little grudge against Jordan Steele,” Pablo said. “Mr. Reyes is in Orlando, and he’s there for one reason only.”

Salvatore frowned. “Why?”

Pablo’s smile widened.

“Because the Steeles sent him.”