"I told you, your last move was truly foolish, Wilson." Ethan Vale's voice resonated low in the stifling silence of the stuffy parking basement. His hand, bound in the kitchen cloth, looked incredibly solid under the flickering neon lights. Wilson, who had just watched his hired thugs collapse without a chance to react, could only gape. His breath came in ragged bursts, his eyes wide with terror. "Who... who the hell are you?!" Wilson croaked, his legs trembling as he backed into a car hood. Clara Thorne stood frozen. Her eyes were fixed on Ethan’s broad back. She watched as her husband’s white shirt, which she had always considered cheap, now looked like impenetrable armor. Before he could even answer, the sound of footsteps from a group of men in dark suits emerging from the VIP elevator
