Rupert 'Ripper' Giles

The King's Dominion — London, 10:45 PM

The exclusive nightclub pulsed with music, laughter and the clinking of expensive champagne glasses.

Hidden behind its luxurious interior was a darker truth. The King's Dominion belonged to Rupert "Ripper" Giles, one of London's most powerful and feared crime bosses.

From his private balcony overlooking the dance floor, Ripper sat in a luxurious leather armchair, dressed impeccably in a black three-piece suit. A crystal tumbler of whisky rested in his hand.

At fifty-eight, Ripper was a distinguished gentleman with greying hair, piercing eyes and an air of quiet authority.

His closest associates surrounded him, discussing business, but Ripper was barely listening.

Something—or rather, someone—had caught his attention.

A woman.

She stood among the other patrons, apparently enjoying her evening, completely oblivious to the dangerous gentleman watching from above.

Ripper tilted his head, studying her with growing curiosity.

"Who's that?" he asked quietly.

His right-hand man followed his gaze.

"Not sure, boss. Want me to find out?"

Ripper considered the question before taking a leisurely sip of whisky.

"No. Not yet."

He placed his glass on the table and rose, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.

His associates exchanged surprised glances.

"Sir? Where are you going?"

Ripper offered a faint, knowing smile.

"To enjoy my own bloody nightclub. Is that quite all right with everyone?"

Descending the staircase, Ripper moved through the crowd with effortless authority. Several patrons stepped aside instinctively, recognising the man who owned the establishment.

He approached the woman, stopping at a respectful distance.

"Good evening."

His rich, refined English accent carried easily above the music.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourself."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Rupert Giles."

He extended his hand.

"And whom might I have the pleasure of addressing?"