" Then before the big lug even knew what was happening, Dom lunged forward to catch him by the neck in a hold. Jabbing the tip of his blade into the brute’s back, Dom dragged him into the alley.
A moment of struggle ensued until Dom hissed, “I’ll bury this knife in your ribs, you bloody fool, if you don’t stop fighting.”
The man stilled. “If it’s money ye’re after--”
“It’s not.” Dom tightened his forearm across the man’s throat, just enough to limit his breathing. “Who’s in the house with Barlow?”
There was a long pause. “Don’t know what ye’re talking about,” the man wheezed.
“Then we’ll stand here until you figure it out.” Dom stuck the bruiser with his blade just enough to make him bleed. “While we wait, I can do some carving.”
“Now see here,” the man warned him, “if you cut me, my friends will hunt you down and smash your face to bits. You don’t know who ye’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you. Ever hear of the Duke’s Men?” God, how he hated that term, but it was better known than Manton’s Investigations. “I’m one of them.”
“Ye’re lying.”
“Not a bit. I’ve got friends of my own. With guns. And plenty of reason to shoot them. My name’s Manton. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
The man froze. “Dominick Manton? The runner what captured those rebels in Cato Street?”
“The very one. "

― Sabrina Jeffries , If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4)