Page 28

T raffic is a nightmare, but I barely notice.

Santos is handling the drive to Volkov Towers, navigating the mess of Monday morning commuters, but my attention is solely on Aella.

She looks devastating.

A navy-blue pencil skirt clings to her perfect curves, accentuating the smooth line of her waist, and the silk blouse tucked in is elegant.

It should read staid and professional. But on her, it’s sexy. Almost obscene.

I am being completely unfair. I mean, she is trying to be provocative. She just is.

Her dark hair falls over one shoulder in a cascade of midnight silk, and my fingers twitch at the urge to wrap it around my fist and pull.

I clench my jaw.

I love how she looks.

But I don’t want anyone else looking at her.

I know that makes me a possessive asshole, but I don’t give a damn.

She’s mine, that she hasn’t said it yet— hasn’t given me the words I’m fucking desperate for —is twisting me up inside.

I confessed I love her.

And she didn’t say it back.

She kissed me. She touched me. But she didn’t say it.

It shouldn’t matter. I know that. She isn’t obligated to say it just because I did.

But it still gnaws at me, making me edgy and restless.

I force myself to focus on her instead of my own internal spiral. She’s restless, her hands smoothing over her skirt, her delicate fingers twisting the strap of her purse.

She’s fidgeting.

I place my hand on her soft thigh, squeezing gently.

“Nervous?” I ask.

Her big green eyes flick to mine, and for a second, something flickers there—a hesitation, a vulnerability. Then she nods.

“Um, yeah, a little. It’s my first day meeting the new design and development team.”

“You’ll do great.”

She gives me a small, anxious smile, and fuck, I hate that she ever doubts herself.

I exhale through my nose and shift closer, my hand firm on her leg, grounding her. “Did you get a message from Mrs. Marsden?”

She nods, her fingers still twitching. “Yeah, she emailed me this morning. She introduced herself. She sounds wonderful.”

She pauses, looking up at me with something close to gratitude. “Thank you, Sammy.”

I tilt my head, studying her. “You don’t have to thank me, Pixie.”

But I like that she does.

I love taking care of her.

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “ ReadEase has two suites on the nineteenth floor. My office is just above yours. If you need anything, you call me. Understand?”

Her breath catches, but she nods. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

I frown.

Because it doesn’t feel fine.

Something is off.

But before I can push, Santos pulls up to Volkov Towers.

I don’t let her move yet.

“Wait,” I say.

Then I slide out first, walking around the SUV to open her door myself.

I don’t need to .

But I need to .

I can’t help myself.

This woman makes me feral. Like I have to be the one to touch every door she opens, to be the first person at her side, to watch every goddamn step she takes.

I can’t go inside with her.

I want to.

But I know Aella. She needs to do this for herself.

So I don’t follow her to her office.

I don’t walk out with her onto the nineteenth floor, even though it kills me not to be the one shielding her from every asshole in this building who’s about to meet her.

But I do pull her close.

And I kiss her.

It’s supposed to be quick. A brief press of my lips to hers, nothing more.

But the second our mouths meet, she sighs into me, and I feel the way her entire body reacts. Like she belongs here. With me.

I pull back, whispering against her lips, “I’ll see you later.”

A promise.

She nods, her eyes glazed, pupils blown, and when she takes a step inside the elevator, I don’t close the doors just yet.

I wait.

Watching the sway of her hips, the way her heels click against the marble.

Then she hesitates. Turns around, blinking.

“Oh! Um, Andrea is stopping by for lunch with some of the girls,” she says.

I nod, understanding.

It’s probably for the best.

Because if I have lunch with her? I’ll want to fuck her.

And fucking her here, in this building, surrounded by our family and friends?

She’s not ready for that.

Not yet.

But soon.

Because hiding my feelings for Aella isn’t an option anymore.

These last few days— marrying her, claiming her, telling her I love her —have changed everything.

There’s no going back to the way it was before.

No more standing in the shadows.

No more pretending I don’t love her.

No more acting like she doesn’t belong to me.

No. Fucking. Way.

Because the cat’s out of the bag now, and even if her dad is pissed, even if the world has something to say about it, it doesn’t fucking matter.

Aella is mine.

And like the lady said, I’m hers.

All hers.

I watch her for a few more seconds until I can’t see her anymore, then it’s up one more floor to my offices.

Each floor looks pretty much the same.

Volkov Towers is more than just a skyscraper— it’s a monument to power.

A place where big things happen. Where deals are brokered that shape industries, where fortunes rise and fall with a single signature.

It stands imposing over the city skyline, a symbol of wealth and influence, a fortress of steel, glass, and absolute control.

Inside, luxury seeps into every inch of its design.

From the handpicked artwork that costs more than most people’s yearly salaries, to the custom Italian leather furniture that screams power and status.

The floors are polished to a mirror finish, the lighting is precision-engineered to exude warmth without softness— because softness has no place here.

Everything from the high-tech security systems to the handwoven rugs is designed to project dominance.

Volkov Industries doesn’t just play in the corporate world. It owns the damn game board.

To the outside world, this company is a titan, a force so powerful it likely terrifies most people.

Not Aella.

She walks through these halls with an ease that speaks to her bloodline. She doesn’t shrink under the weight of legacy, doesn’t hesitate in the face of empire-makers and boardroom sharks.

Like me, she was born to this.

Viper Enterprises might not be as vast as Volkov Industries, but it wields its own unique power— one built on precision, strategy, and calculated ruthlessness.

The Vipers don’t just compete. They command.

Their niche expertise and specialized operations make them indispensable in ways most corporations could only dream of. They may not have Volkov’s reach, but when they strike, they strike with lethal efficiency.

Over the years, Viper Enterprises and Volkov Industries have crossed paths countless times— working together, making moves, leveraging power where necessary.

Even though I respect the hell out of them for it.

Because power isn’t just about size. It’s about how you use it.

I imagine some people think our marriage is one hell of a merger.

But fuck them.

I did not marry her for that reason.

I don’t need Viper Enterprises to succeed. Being a billionaire in my own right means her father can’t accuse me of that at least.

I sigh and ponder what my next move will be with the man.

Personally, I would not care if he kept on hating me. But Aella would.

She does.

Even if she hasn’t acknowledged it yet, I know how important family is. And I want her to be happy.

Always.

For her, I’ll make peace with her old man.

I think about it as I head to my own office.

I work a few floors away from my father and uncles, and that’s entirely by choice.

While Uncles Adrik, Marat, and Josef—along with my father—run the bulk of Volkov Industries, I choose a different battlefield.

Instead of corporate boardrooms drenched in power plays and political maneuvering, I scout brilliance.

I track promising inventions, disruptive technology, and ambitious startups, give them the push they need, or sometimes, acquire them outright. It’s what I did for Aella.

And I have no plans of stopping.

Adapting to civilian life after years of combat? I thought it would be impossible. That the chaos of war had rewired me permanently.

But it turns out business is its own kind of war— strategy, risks, high-stakes negotiations.

I thrive in it.

I just never expected my morning to start with this kind of battle.

Connor Callahan and Balor Cruz are sitting in my office, and neither of them looks happy.

“Good morning,” I say, already bracing for whatever the hell this is.

“Not fucking likely,” Connor mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face like he’s had one hell of a night.

Balor, standing beside him, hands me a tablet without a word.

I take it, frowning at the paused video on the screen. The image is grainy, but the street looks familiar.

A sick feeling settles in my gut.

“Watch the video first,” Connor says. “Then we’ll talk.”

I don’t sit. I hit play, and the second the footage rolls, I recognize the place.

The Vipers’ Den.

Jersey City.

A well-fortified club, it serves as one of the main operations for Angel Fury—the Enforcer and my new father-in-law—along with his two partners: Luc Batiste, the Council, and the most unhinged motherfucker of them all, Angel’s cousin, the King of the Vipers himself, Nico Fury.

Fuck. This is not good.

I watch as a group of men— six, maybe seven —dressed in tactical black gear move silently and efficiently toward the back entrance.

The time stamp reads between four and five in the morning.

They knew what they were doing. Knew exactly when to strike—assuming I am right and this all took place during the shift swap, when security is most vulnerable.

Even with that, it shouldn’t have been this easy.

My jaw tightens. The men move like ghosts, slipping through the shadows, hitting their marks with lethal precision.

There’s a flash from the doorway.

A muffled pop— the unmistakable sound of a silenced gunshot.

My gut goes cold.

“Dead?” I ask, my voice sharp.

Connor nods once.

I inhale deeply, trying to suppress the fury bubbling inside me. I don’t like this. I hand the tablet back to Balor.

“Alright,” I say, controlled. “I watched. Now explain.”

Balor’s lips press together. “We haven’t identified this crew yet, but from the way they move? They’re professionals. Mercs at the very least. Possibly ex-military.”

“Where’d they hit?”

“Your new Daddy’s office,” Connor growls.

I know he is feeling salty. And I think I know why. See, Connor’s security company was recently acquired by Sigma International. The firm run by Josef Aziz, working for Volkov International, who also frequently swaps men with the Vipers.

I exhale slowly.

“Your man the one who died?”

Connor nods sharply.

Oh yeah. This is fucking bad.

The Vipers’ Den is not an easy target.

Anyone trying to take from the Vipers, from Angel fucking Fury himself, surely has a death wish.

“They went in and came out clean?” I ask, voice low.

Connor’s expression darkens. “Not a fucking scratch.”

“And what did they take?”

Balor doesn’t hesitate. “A thumb drive.”

My spine straightens.

“From?”

“Angel Fury’s office.”

I don’t ask what was on it. If it was worth stealing from one of the most dangerous men in the state, then it was worth killing for.

That’s when the door slams open so hard it bounces off the wall.

And there he is—Angel fucking Fury.

My father-in-law.

Pissed as hell.

The room shifts under the weight of his presence. Tension cracks the air like a live wire.

“This you?” he demands, his voice a razor’s edge.

I arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“First, you steal my daughter,” he snarls, moving faster than I thought a man his age capable. “Then you fucking rob me?”

He grabs my suit, yanking me forward until we’re nose to nose.

I don’t resist. I let him get in my face, his fury spilling into me like gasoline on a fire.

I don’t flinch.

But my hands itch—not to fight, I have no wish to engage with him.

But because if this escalates, I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to put my father-in-law on his ass.

Footsteps thunder down the hall.

A second later, my father and uncles storm into the room, flanking us like the fucking Wolves they are.

A split second later, Nico Jr. appears, grabbing his uncle and pulling him back.

Angel fights it for half a second, his glare burning into me.

I straighten my suit calmly, exhaling through my nose as I run a hand over my jaw.

“I have nothing to do with this,” I say evenly. “So if you’re done accusing me, we can start figuring out who the hell is behind it.”

Angel’s breathing is heavy, nostrils flaring. He jerks out of Nico Jr.’s grip, but at least he’s not coming at me again.

“These men—” He jabs a finger at me. “They moved like Marines. Someone you know, maybe?”

I narrow my eyes. That hits a nerve.

Before I can answer, my father steps in.

“Relax,” Dad snaps. “Don’t go tossing out accusations you can’t take back.”

Angel’s head whips toward him, eyes blazing.

“Accusations? Your son didn’t even have the balls to ask for my daughter’s hand, Andres. What kind of fucking man is that?”

And just like that, I see red.

Dad growls, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “He’s a goddamn decorated hero, that’s what he is!”

“Enough.”

Uncle Adrik speaks, his voice low and steady, but it’s enough to cut through the fire.

Both men step back a fraction, tension still thick in the air.

Nico Jr. looks pained, but his loyalty is clear.

“Uncle,” he says carefully, his voice tight, “I swear to you, Sammy wouldn’t do this.”

Angel doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.

I lock my gaze on to his and hold it. “Mr. Fury, with all due respect, I swear to you I have nothing to do with those men. But I will reach out to my contacts in special ops.”

His jaw flexes. I can tell he’s still seething, but he finally exhales sharply and nods.

“Do that. Fast.”

Then, without another word, he turns and storms out.

“We’ll talk to him, Sammy. Don’t worry,” my father says, nodding once as he follows Angel out, my uncles close behind him.

The room stays silent for a beat before Balor lets out a low whistle.

“Well,” he mutters. “That could have gone worse.”

I roll my shoulders back, my muscles still tight.

“Oh, yeah?” I say dryly, already reaching for my phone.

“Yeah. He could have brought Buffy and tossed her in your lap,” Balor jokes, mentioning the black mamba I know for a fact Angel keeps as a pet.

“Well, give him a few hours, he might be back.” Connor snorts.

“Well, if you two fucks are done giving me shit. I have some calls to make.”

“Alright, we’ll leave you to it,” Connor says and stands. “We will check back with you in a few hours.”

I nod. I know they will.

Because this?

This is far from over.