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I’d felt it in my gut the second I saw the odds start to slide. I’d felt it when I heard her name whispered in the same breath as the last fight. I’d felt it in my bones when I saw her in that crowd—leather and lipstick and reckless curiosity in her eyes like she wanted to be ruined.

Now I had proof.

I stared at the screen like I was trying to burn through it.

“She doesn’t use her real name for anything,” Ivan muttered. “Except on this.”

Of course she had.

Because shewantedme to know.

This wasn’t just about money. She didn’t need it. She was the mayor’s daughter; she could burn thousands a week and call it cardio.

No, this was about playing the game. This was about getting under my skin.

Congratulations, sweetheart—mission accomplished.

“You want me to handle it?” Ivan asked.

I didn’t look up. “No.”

“You sure? Because if she’s screwing with the odds, she could be screwing with more than that. Money. Influence. Maybe even our connections.”

“I said no.”

He backed off. Smart.

I didn’t like being tested, but Ireallydidn’t like being teased, and that’s what this was. A cute little stunt dressed up like a hustle. She was poking the bear, seeing if it would growl. Seeing if it would bite.

What she didn’t know was that I didn’t growl.

I went straight for the throat.

I leaned back in the chair, stared up at the ceiling, and took a long, slow breath.

Beautiful, reckless, arrogant little fox.

She thought she was safe in her penthouse wearing that sly little smile she put on when she broke the rules. She thought this world was her playground, but my world wasn’t made of swing sets and secrets. Mine was blood and consequences. If she wanted to keep playing, fine. The next time I saw her, though, she wouldn’t walk away untouched. So I picked up the phone and dialed her father.

The mayor answered on the second ring, because of course he did.

“Morozov.” His voice was clipped. Short. Always pretending like he had the high ground—even when he was standing on a ledge I built for him.

“Kingsley.” I leaned back in my chair and drummed my fingers on my desk. “We need to talk.”

There was a pause. Just a breath.

“You calling to make trouble?”

“I’m calling because your daughter already beat me to it.”

Silence.

Then, “What did she do?”

“She’s been attending my fights. Placed a bet under her real name. Manipulated odds to inflate her payout. Smart, reckless, and flashy: she’s your daughter, all right.”

Another pause, but this one was heavier. Resigned.