My uncle’s summons arrives an hour after Sutton leaves.


    BORIS: Come see me immediately. We need to discuss your… engagement.


    Boris is master of the passive-aggressive text. The ellipsis speaks volumes about the direction this conversation will go.


    Which is exactly why he can wait.


    I have a lot of work to catch up on. Thest hour was lost to thoughts of Sutton. I was in fucking shambles after she stormed into my office, her dress hugging every line and swell of her body. She was all curves and attitude and a bristling fuck-you energy that made my blood sing.


    Her perfume still lingers, taunting me.


    “Boss?”


    Vol stands in my doorway looking like he’s about to piss himself.


    Not an unusual state for him when he enters my office.


    “I have an update on the two intruders from the marina.”


    I sigh. It feels like years since I knocked out the two men who trespassed near my yacht. So much has changed since then.


    “And?”


    “They’re not Martinek men.”


    I arch an eyebrow, which is a sign for him to continue.


    “We did a deep dive—credit searches, bank ounts,munications—and someone bought them. It’s a ghost organization. Completely under the radar.”


    “So you came here to tell me you have nothing.”


    He nods miserably. “But we’re working on?—”


    “Work harder,” I growl. “Get out.”


    Vol trips over his own feet trying to retreat. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with Boris’s message shing at the top of my notifications and the persistent memory of silk-wrapped curves I’d like to map with my hands.


    And my lips.


    And my?—


    “Fuck,” I spit, opening myptop.


    If I walk out of this office now, I’ll go to my penthouse.


    I’ll find Sutton.


    I’ll cross all the lines I’ve set for myself.


    So I bury myself in work until I can think straight.


    I let Uncle Boris stew until sunset. By then, his texts have evolved from passive-aggressive to outright hostile.


    Good. An angry Boris is a careless Boris.


    I leave the office and head to his waterfront mansion. Instead of taking my car to the front entrance, I sail my sloop right into his private marina.


    I pass the collection of overpriced toys he calls a fleet. Toys bought and paid for with my father’s money.


    Money that should’ve been mine.


    One day soon, it’ll all be mine again.


    As I disembark and walk down the dock, something catches my eye on the side of his favorite catamaran: the symbol of my new security system emzoned in the shiny paint. The exact one he voted against atst week’s board meeting.


    Well, well. Isn’t that interesting?


    I creep closer for a better look when shlight beams blind me from three directions.


    “Don’t move,” a voice barks. “You’re trespassing on private property.”


    I turn slowly, letting the light catch my scars. “Actually, I was invited.”


    “Mr. Oleg!” The head of security lowers his gun so fast he nearly drops it. “I didn’t realize?—”


    “Obviously. Or you’d have brought better firepower.” I eye his pathetic little 9mm. “Tell my uncle I’m here.”


    “No need for that.” Boris’s voice slices through the darkness. “You always did know how to make an entrance, Oleg.”


    His hands are in his pockets, and I notice he hasn’t moved to dismiss his men. Their weapons are lowered, but they are still surrounding me at the ready.


    “I was just admiring your new security features.” I nod at the catamaran. “I’m surprised, considering your stance at the board meeting.”


    He lifts a cigar, the end smoldering orange in the darkness. His hand shakes slightly, but he hides it well. “One can’t be too careful.”


    “Indeed.” I step past his men like they’re no more than garden statues. “But it is curious that your private marina has better protection than Pavlov Industries and my marinabined. Your priorities seem… misaligned.”


    His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a collector, nephew. Rare coins. Antiques. The kind of things that tempt even amateur thieves.”


    “It’s a poor pakhan who puts his own personal safety and interests above those of hispany and his Bratva.”


    Boris’s face twitches. “What would you know about being pakhan?”


    “Everything my father taught me.”


    The air between us crackles. Old wounds and the grudges that predate them.


    Boris recovers first, ever the politician. “Bogdan was a good brother and father. Come inside and join me for a drink. We’ll toast to his memory. I just opened a bottle of whiskey.”


    He’s not lying. I can smell the liquor on his breath.


    He leads me to his patio—a stone b surrounded on all sides by statues of predators frozen mid-attack like they’re about to lunge at us.


    Never one for subtlety, my uncle.


    He settles into a throne-like chair beneath a snarling lion and gestures to his bar cart. “Help yourself.”


    I pour myself three fingers of whiskey and im a seat beneath an eagle with bared talons. The lights strung overhead cast deep shadows of my uncle’s lined face.


    His eyes are empty sockets, dead and empty.


    I take a sip and raise my ss to him. “Very nice.”


    “I’m d you approve.” He fingers his own ss, his eyes fixed on me. “You usually have such discerning taste. I thought in all matters, but… after seeing your engagement announcement, I may have been wrong about that.”


    I expected this, but my fingers still tighten around my crystal tumbler. “You do not approve?”


    “Sutton.” He spits her name. “Slutton would be more appropriate, wouldn’t it? She’s trash. I know it. You know it. The entire fuckingpany knows it.”


    “Did you spend all daying up with that nickname?”


    “Is her pussy that magical?” His lips curl, and I want to rip them from his face. “Does she have an enchanted throat that fried your brain? That’s the only exnation for?—”


    “Don’t say another word.” I swear I feel the crystal flex in my palm, and I set it aside before I stab a shard into my uncle’s carotid. “She is young, beautiful, and will make an excellent mother. That’s all you need to know.”


    “What about breeding? ss? Education?” Boris sneers. “I know a hundred women more suitable?—”


    “My choice is made. The announcement is public.” I lean forward, letting him look into my eyes and see the violence I’m capable of. “Sutton Palmer will be my wife. She’ll be the mother of my children. If you ever disrespect her again, they’ll be fishing pieces of you out of your precious marina for weeks.”


    “You forget yourself, nephew. I’m the pakhan.”


    The breeze carries the scent of salt water and makes my uncle shiver. That, or something else has him shaking in his throne.


    “I’m in charge,” he adds. “You answer to me. Disobey my orders or lose control of your white trash woman and heads will roll.”


    “But whose head?”


    “W-what?” he splutters.


    “Power isn’t about titles, uncle. It’s about loyalty. And every man in this organization knows which of us would bleed beside them in a fight.” I unfurl a slow smile, shing my canines as I stand. “If you’re smart, you’ll wee my future wife with open arms. If you’re not… Well, like you said, one can’t be too careful these days.”


    I leave him there, trembling beneath his stone lion.


    My phone is already in my hand as I walk away.


    OLEG: Meet me at the Pavlov Boatyard in half an hour, princess. It’s time we talked.