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Romero was in an angry phase at the thought of one of his men being dead, killed by Dylan Clifford. It was enough to make him realize that dealing with Dylan was not going to be a walk in the park.

A knock resounded on the door of his office in one of his warehouses, but he chose not to answer. His face scrunched up in frustration as he contemplated how to exact revenge on Dylan for what he did.

“Boss, it's James Lance. I need to speak with you. It's urgent.” James called out from the other side of the door and knocked again.

Reluctantly, Romero grunted and said, “Come in.”

James entered the room and approached Romero. “Boss. The guy who caused trouble at the club the other day, I've tracked him down and taken care of him.”

Romero arched an eyebrow at the news. “You took care of him? Where's the evidence?”

James pulled out a photo and displayed it. “Here's the proof. He's dead and gone. I investigated further and found out he's not even a cop or anyone significant. Just a nobody tryin
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