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I nearly fall backward when he closes the distance between us, like he’s trying to prove a point. One second, I’m spitting threats and telling this idiot to shut his mouth. The next, I’m swallowing my words because this man is towering over me, blocking my view of anything behind him. The hallway seems to shrink. His presence is so commanding it’s impossible to focus on anything else.

My heart thrashes in my chest. I still feel the rush of adrenaline from sneaking into my own home, but now there’s another layer—something I wasn’t prepared for. He looms close enough that I catch a scent that’s both pleasant and disorienting, a combination of warm spice and clean soap that doesn’t match the gritty aura I expect from someone with that stance.

He’s huge—easily a head and a half taller than me. His suit jacket stretches across broad shoulders, and when he moves, I notice the bulge of muscle in his arms. There’s nothing lean or boyish about him. He’s all power in a perfectly tailored ensemble.

He could be mid-thirties, maybe pushing forty, and that fact alone would make most women flinch. In this world, with age comes a certain brutality and ruthlessness. It’s a learned behavior. You can’t help but become jaded after witnessing so much crime and violence. But I’m not like most women. Instead of shrinking away, I square my shoulders and stand taller. If he thinks he can intimidate me just by existing, he’s got another thing coming.

But I can’t deny something about him does catch me off-guard. He doesn’t look like the other brutes who work for my dad.

His jawline looks chiseled from stone, covered in a hint of dark stubble that outlines his mouth and accentuates lips set in a hard line. His hair is ebony black, cut short on the sides and slightly longer on top, combed back with the methodicalness of someone who pays attention to detail. A faint scar crosses his left eyebrow, giving his face an intensity that draws the eye. He has the kind of features that make me want to stare.

I’m trying not to get lost in the color of his eyes—dark brown but with threads of gold swirling near the pupils. They’re locked on me in a way that sends a tingle across my skin. If he’s just a guard, he’s the most impressive one my father has ever hired. Yet something about him feels too refined for that. The fabric of his jacket doesn’t look like the standard off-the-rack suits Dad forces on his bodyguards. This is finer, with subtle stitching. I catch a glimpse of polished cufflinks gleaming at his wrists.

I press my lips together, determined not to back down, even though a part of me is screaming, What are you doing ?

“Are you done?” he rumbles in a voice that threatens to knock the wind out of me. He angles his head in a way that forces me to tip my chin up if I want to keep eye contact.

My stomach clenches. “Done with what?” I shoot back, refusing to let him see how rattled I am.

His eyes narrow. “Yelling at me in your father’s hallway like you own the place.”

I grit my teeth. “I do live here,” I bite out. “And for the record, if you’re one of my father’s new hires, you might want to work on your manners.”

He leans closer, enough that I feel his body heat searing into me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Should I?” The words come out more defiant than I intend. I’m teetering between fury and wanting to jump this man’s bones.

He doesn’t answer. He just fixes me with a stare that makes me gulp. I smell his cologne again—rich, masculine, and it stirs up my nerves. My knees feel shaky, so I straighten my spine. I’m not about to let him see me sweat.

His lips curve upward. It’s not exactly a smile, but more like amusement. He backs off a fraction, giving me space to breathe. I blow out a quiet breath and scowl at him.

“Just because you’re wearing an expensive suit doesn’t give you the right to—”

He moves so quickly that I don’t have a chance to finish the sentence. Suddenly, he’s leaning in and whispering near my ear as though he’s telling me a secret. “I’ve had about enough of your attitude. Watch your mouth before you say something you regret.”

My pulse hammers. “Is that a warning?”

He straightens and adjusts his cuffs with deliberate slowness. “Take it however you want.”

He turns his back on me and heads down the hall like he’s already forgotten I exist. I stand there with heat crawling up my cheeks, watching him. Who the hell is this guy?

I watch the way his suit fits his frame and the confidence in his stride. All my earlier assumptions that he’s just a run-of-the-mill guard dissolve. My father hires brutes who do everything in black T-shirts and cargo pants, or cheap suits that they throw away after a few weeks because they get torn up on the job. This man is in a different category. The thought of my father employing him for menial security duties starts to seem laughable.

He glances over his shoulder once and lifts his dark brow as if to say, Keep running that mouth of yours, see what happens . Then he’s gone, disappearing around a corner.

I let out a breath and try to steady myself. My heart still pounds from the adrenaline of sneaking in and colliding with that man. I tug on the bottom of my shirt, as though that might help me regain composure. What if he tells my father? A jolt of panic hits me. I threatened him, practically accused him of assault. If he works for Dad—or even if he’s something else—he might report my little escapade. But then again, if he was just passing by, maybe he doesn’t care enough to cause trouble for me.

Damn it. All I wanted was a night out with my friends. A few hours of freedom. Apparently, that was too much to ask.

I shuffle down the corridor, trying not to look too suspicious. My father’s estate has multiple wings, each laid out with immaculate decor that screams extravagance: marble floors, gold-framed paintings, plush rugs. I’ve grown up in this environment, but it’s never felt like home. Dad’s presence is all over these walls, from the antique rifles he mounts like trophies to the stiff furniture that’s more for display than comfort.

As I approach the main foyer, I see a pair of staff members huddled together. There’s a tension in the way they keep glancing toward my father’s office. Usually, Dad handles his shady deals offsite in warehouses or those private clubs he frequents. His conducting business here is never a good sign.

“Excuse me,” I say quietly, hoping to glean some information. “What’s going on?”

One of them, a short woman in a dark dress, shoots me a fleeting look. She’s obviously fearful. She parts her lips but doesn’t speak. The man beside her shakes his head like he’s warning her not to say a word. My father’s staff knows better than to gossip around me, or maybe they’re just protecting themselves.

I sigh and continue on my way. So much for finding out anything from them.

Before I can head upstairs, I catch sight of my sister, Cecily, hovering near Dad’s office doorway. She’s peering through a slight gap, looking like she’s trying to eavesdrop. Normally, Cecily is the proper one—quiet, obedient. It’s out of character for her to be snooping like this. My eyebrows shoot up.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, creeping up behind her.

She whirls around, pressing a finger to her lips. “Shh!” Cecily’s eyes are big, and her skin looks paler than usual, which is saying something because we share the same alabaster complexion. She grabs my hand and pulls me behind a decorative pillar, away from direct view of the office door.

I whisper, “Seriously, what’s happening?”

She looks around, making sure no one else is within earshot. “I heard a commotion from my room, so I came to check. Dad’s pissed.”

“Pissed about what?”

“I don’t know. Something about deals and betrayal. People have been walking in and out. There was a guy here I’ve never seen before. Dad sounds furious.”

A chill runs down my spine as I recall the earlier encounter with that mysterious man.

I gesture for Cecily to follow me so we’re not standing in the middle of the hallway. We move a little farther from the door and duck behind one of the tall decorative screens that are there for aesthetics, giving us a partial view of the office through a narrow gap.

Cecily lowers her voice to the faintest whisper. “What were you doing out last night, anyway?”

My heart clenches. “If you must know, I needed some air. I was at Nadia’s.”

She looks worried. “Dad’s going to kill you if he finds out you were gone all night. You know how he is.”

“Did you catch any names?” I ask, diverting the attention back to him. I know all too well how our father is. I don’t need to be reminded.

“I heard the name Barkov once or twice,” Cecily says, biting her lip. “Isn’t that one of the families Dad used to deal with?”

My pulse ticks up. Barkov. That rings a bell. Dad used to be allied with them, but something went wrong. I heard bits and pieces but never the full story. Dad keeps me and Cecily in the dark when it comes to his dealings.

We inch closer to the edge of the screen, and Dad’s voice booms out, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying followed by a muffled, almost panicked response.

Cecily and I exchange a concerned glance. Dad’s rage is so thick in his tone I can practically feel my stomach twist. I’ve seen him in these moods before, and it never ends well for whoever he’s confronting.

“What the hell are you two doing?” a voice growls from behind us.

I jolt and swing around. One of Dad’s older guards, Garrett, is standing there with his arms crossed. He’s a tall, lanky man with gray creeping into his hair, and he’s always had it out for me and Cecily—probably because Dad told him to keep us in line.

“Move along, ladies,” Garrett orders. “You shouldn’t be near Mr. Thorne’s office right now.”

I open my mouth, but Cecily grabs my arm and steers me away before I say something that’ll get us in trouble. We end up in a side corridor that connects to a smaller lounge room—one Dad rarely uses. I close the door behind us, muffling the noise from the main hallway.

Cecily presses her hands to her cheeks. “This is bad. Whatever it is, this is bad.”

I nod and start pacing the small space. “Didn’t Dad say he cut ties with the Barkovs months ago?”

She shrugs as she perches on the edge of a loveseat. “He did. Which means something changed.”

I think back to the man I ran into moments ago, the one with the broad shoulders and commanding presence. He said something about me not knowing who I was dealing with. Could he be from the Barkov side? Or maybe he’s part of a new arrangement Dad made.

“What if Dad’s about to do something extreme?”

I grimace. “What else is new?”

Ever since we were little, we’ve known Dad’s business wasn’t legitimate, but it’s escalated in the last few years. He’s grown more paranoid, more ruthless. I’m not naive to the fact that violence is part of his world. Still, the idea of it happening right here in the house makes my stomach churn.

We flinch when we hear raised voices again. This time they’re closer, like Dad stepped out of his office or into the corridor. We hurry to the door of the lounge, carefully cracking it open an inch so we can listen.

A thunderous shout makes Cecily jerk backward. My father is yelling, “If you’re trying to get me killed, have the balls to at least say it.”

Then, a different voice answers, trembling with desperation. “Sir, I swear, I didn’t—”

We hear a thud, then a cry of pain. My heart rate spikes. Dad must’ve thrown him against something or struck him.

“Please, Sir,” the man pleads, “I’ll do anything to fix this—”

Cecily grips my hand and mouths, Let’s go . But my feet stay rooted to the floor. I can’t turn away, even though I’m terrified of what we might see or hear.

We hear Dad again. “You think you can double-cross me and walk away?”

The man sputters incoherent apologies. My father’s tone grows lethal. “Get on your knees.”

Cecily’s hand trembles in mine, and my entire body tenses with dread. Please don’t do anything rash . But I already know Dad’s capable of the worst.

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the man’s ragged breathing. Then Dad says, “That’s right. You should beg.”

A strangled whimper echoes, followed by a loud noise that cracks through the hall. My heart seizes in my chest, and Cecily’s free hand flies to her mouth. I squeeze her fingers, trying to keep her calm while my own pulse thunders.

We both recognize what happened. Dad just pulled the trigger.

He shot him. He’s never been squeamish about killing, but doing it so openly in our home… This is crossing a line.

Cecily’s eyes are glossy. She’s about to speak, so I press a finger to her lips. We need to be absolutely silent. Another voice in the corridor, probably one of Dad’s underlings, says, “Sir, what do you want us to do with the body?”

“Clean it up,” Dad barks. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?”

I suck in a slow breath and glance at Cecily. She looks like she’s on the verge of fainting, so I tug her away from the door and into the center of the lounge. Her chest heaves, and tears brim in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, wiping at her face, “I didn’t expect—”

“I know,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “But this is who he is, Cecily. We can’t pretend anymore. This is our father.”

She shakes her head. “Why did he have to do it here?”

Anger surges within me, fueled by fear. “He doesn’t care.”

We share a moment of silence, each coping with the horrifying reality of what we just witnessed. It’s not that we haven’t known Dad is dangerous—everyone who crosses him ends up in a shallow grave, or so the rumors go—but I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen him kill someone outright. Usually, he’s more discreet. There must be something huge at stake.

After several minutes of tense silence, we hear more footsteps outside in the hallway. A muffled voice says, “Mr. Thorne, would you like us to reach out to the cleaners?”

Another reply—Dad’s. “Do you think I want bloodstains in my corridor? Of course I do.” Then there’s a pause, followed by, “And get ready for tomorrow’s meeting with the Bratva. I’ll need one of my pawns.”