The heavy, gilded doors of the Waldorf Astoria ballroom clicked shut with an absolute, terrifying finality.The towering man who stepped onto the immaculate marble floor did not look like a syndicate boss. He didn't carry the violent, heavy grime of the underworld. He was dressed in a pristine, blindingly white bespoke suit, his silver hair perfectly styled, radiating an untouchable, freezing elegance. He looked entirely like a saint.He was the absolute manifestation of the global elite. He was Julian Cross. The Archangel.He held a single, gold sealed document in his manicured hand. It wasn't a subpoena. It was a completely irreversible, legally binding certificate of private adoption.Lucian's massive, heavily corded frame turned completely, terrifyingly still. The apocalyptic predator within him violently surged, thrashing against his ribs. He stood in the center of the empty ballroom, holding his two infant sons effortlessly against his broad, tuxedo clad chest. The babies were q
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