“Get out of that table now,” the cop ordered sharply, assuming authority over the situation. Moments later, he realized the man he had just insulted was actually the owner of the entire restaurant, turning the moment into instant embarrassment.

He set his glass down.

Waited.

“You two are finished here,” Rourke said, not loudly, but with the kind of certainty that didn’t need volume to carry authority. “Go ahead and clear out.”

For a moment, there was a kind of silence that wasn’t complete, but selective—conversations nearby slowed, attention shifted without turning obvious, and the staff, trained as they were, hesitated just enough to signal that something had gone wrong.

Dominic looked at him.

Not aggressively.

Not submissively.

Just… directly.

“I’m sorry?” he said, his voice even.

Rourke didn’t repeat himself exactly. Men like him rarely do. Instead, he adjusted, as if clarifying something that should have been obvious.