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F lying to Vegas is nothing new. We’ve done it as a group dozens of times over the years, though admittedly, I’ve been sort of absent as of late.

Working dark ops is dicey at the best of times, but I survived. And I have no intention of leaving again.

This time we are celebrating Aella’s graduation from grad school. She earned her MBA, and this trip is a to toast her success.

She’s always been brilliant, but I know how much harder it’s been for her.

How she had to fight through the tangled mess of dyslexia, the way words slipped through her grasp like water.

How she spent long nights with tutors and speech-to-text programs, hammering away at a system that wasn’t made for a mind like hers.

And she did it.

Of course, she fucking did.

Aella Fury doesn’t lose.

She laughs at something Andrea says, her head tilting back, midnight-dark hair falling in glossy waves down her spine. The sound snakes under my skin, wrapping around my ribcage like a noose.

Christ.

She’s still so beautiful, it hurts to look at her.

But I’m not the same man she used to know.

Not the man who danced with her under fairy lights and left before dawn.

Now, I know what my hands are capable of. What my soul has withered into.

I’ve spilled blood, taken lives, waded through the kind of nightmares that crawl inside a man and make a home in his bones.

And she’s still Aella .

Soft for this world. Untouched by it.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about her.

But I’ve been waiting for this moment.

For her.

For the chance to finally take what’s always been just out of reach.

This time, I’m not running.

Which only makes my predicament more fucked up. Because while she’s giggling and having fun, I’m sitting here like a monster plotting away, concocting a plan to make her mine.

“You alright?”

Junior’s voice cuts through the low hum of conversation, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.

For the first time, I notice he’s been watching me.

I nod, a short, clipped movement.

Nico Fury Jr. is a chip off the old block—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, and built from the same ruthless stock as his father. He’s my best friend, the closest thing I have to a brother. But I’ve never told him how I feel about Aella.

Because she’s his blood, his first cousin.

And I’m not sure he wouldn’t try to stop me from taking her.

So, I keep it to myself.

Let the monster inside me coil and wait.

Balor clears his throat, drawing the room’s attention.

“Uh, change of plans at the hotel,” he announces.

Balor Cruz works for Sigma International and Volkov Industries. He’s also Connor’s cousin, which is how he got pulled into this whole impromptu weekend.

I don’t know him well, but we’ve chatted. He strikes me as alright. Sharp, quiet, the kind of man who watches before he moves.

I respect that.

“Why? What’s going on?” Lucy asks from across the cabin.

Uncle Marat’s daughter. Opinionated. Beautiful. Nosy as hell.

Balor barely glances at her. “They can’t give us the entire penthouse because of some unexpected royalty showing up, so we’ll be on two floors instead. I’m emailing everyone their room changes now.”

A chorus of phone pings fills the air.

No one really cares.

And for me? It changes nothing.

I already know where I’ll be spending the night.

Because Aella is an only child. She’s never had to share her space, and she sure as hell won’t be sharing a room here.

That makes my plan easier.

Balor’s gaze catches mine for a fraction of a second. Too brief to mean anything, but I clock it anyway.

Does he see me? Does he suspect?

I don’t linger.

I steeple my hands, still and patient, waiting for the descent.

Waiting for her.

A few minutes later, the plane touches down, and we step onto the stairs leading to the tarmac.

Las Vegas air slams into me like a heatwave straight out of hell—hot, dry, stifling.

The sun is setting, and it paints the sky in a dozen shades of oranges and reds. Pretty. But still stifling.

The heat lingers, sinking into the pavement, wrapping around us like a second skin.

The air-conditioned limousines are already waiting.

Aella walks ahead, her curvy form slips gracefully into the sleek black car behind Amber and Jade—more of my honorary cousins.

I follow.

It goes mostly unnoticed—except for Andrea, my sister, who elbows me the second I slide in beside her.

I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Andrea.”

“What, did we lose a bet? How did you end up in our car, Grumpy Face?” She smirks, crossing her arms like she’s ready for battle.

Before I can respond, Aella beats me to it.

And it’s a fucking gut punch.

“Oh my God, Andrea, he’s like a real-life Captain America. Leave him alone,” she says, casually, like she hasn’t just knocked the wind out of me.

And then—she pinches my sister’s calf.

Her response is so effortless, so familiar, that it stings in a place deeper than I’m willing to acknowledge.

Andrea gags dramatically. “Eww. You like Sammy? Gross!”

I swear to God, I am this close to shoving my own sister out of the moving vehicle.

“Behave, or I’m telling Mom,” I mutter, leveling her with a look.

She just snorts and leans back, her attention already shifting.

But Aella?

Aella is still looking at me.

And for the first time in seven years, I allow myself a single, reckless thought.

Maybe she’s been waiting, too.