Page 33

I ’m mad.

Really fucking mad.

The anger sits deep in my bones, simmering beneath my skin like a slow-burning fire.

I glare at my phone, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.

Aella refused my calls.

Ignored me.

And when she finally responded?

She dismissed me with a goddamn text.

It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.

But it does.

Because I know she’s pissed. I know she’s hurt.

And I know it’s my fault.

I could’ve handled this better. Should’ve told her more. Should’ve explained something, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

But I didn’t.

Because I can’t—not yet.

I need to be sure before I drag her into the middle of something she has no business being involved in. It’s my duty to protect her, and I fucking will. With my life, if needs be.

Still, the knowledge that I’ve upset her doesn’t sit right.

She’s at home right now, probably pacing the floors of the house I built for her, arms crossed, lip caught between her teeth, fuming because she doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening.

And the worst part?

I want to fix it.

I want to get in the car, drive home, take her in my arms, and tell her every fucking thing.

But I can’t.

Not yet.

Not until I know what we’re dealing with.

So instead of doing the one thing I really want to do, I pull my shit together, shove my frustration down deep, and focus on the mission at hand.

My men are waiting, already geared up and ready to move.

Handpicked. Experienced. Deadly.

The second the words leave my lips, they understand the assignment.

Whoever led the crew that hit the Den? They weren’t amateurs. They were ex-military. Their movements were too clean, their strategy too sharp.

This wasn’t some random smash-and-grab.

It was planned.

Coordinated.

Which means there’s a bigger reason behind it.

That thumb drive they took?

Old files. Inactive accounts. Nothing relevant to Viper Enterprises’ current business.

So why go to all this trouble for something obsolete?

Something doesn’t add up.

And I don’t like loose ends.

The blacked-out SUV pulls into the alley behind the Den. The moment we stop, I feel it— eyes on me.

Watching.

Waiting.

Assessing.

Angel Fury is already outside, standing like a fucking sentry, arms crossed over his massive chest. His face is set in stone, his dark eyes razor-sharp.

His presence alone demands respect. Commands attention.

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut.

I step out of the SUV, close the door behind me, and meet his stare head-on. I don’t breathe too deep because that would mean admitting to feelings I’d rather not share with my father-in-law.

That and the fact it smells like cat piss in that back alley.

His expression doesn’t change as I draw near.

I see it clear as day— the weight of barely contained aggression simmering just beneath the surface.

The same look he gave me when he sucker-punched me in the face after marrying Aella.

Like he was measuring me.

Deciding whether I was worth keeping alive.

He’s not a man who forgives easily.

And I fucking took his daughter.

At least, that’s probably how he sees it.

But I’m not here to convince him of anything.

I’m here to do a job.

To get answers.

Prove my fucking innocence since the man suspects me of being behind the burglary.

“About fucking time,” Angel growls, voice low and full of gravel.

I don’t react.

I don’t flinch.

I refuse to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

“Good evening, Mr. Fury.”

My voice is calm. Steady. Controlled.

His jaw tightens.

I know exactly what he’s doing—poking, prodding, waiting to see if I’ll lose my cool.

If his daughter married a hothead.

But I won’t take the bait.

I never fucking do.

Besides, Aella would probably be pissed if I killed her dad.

His eyes flick over my shoulder, taking in my team.

“Who are they?”

“My men.”

He grunts. “They competent?”

I arch a brow. “Wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.”

Another grunt.

No praise.

No acknowledgment.

Just the cold, calculating mind of a man who doesn’t trust easily.

That’s fine.

I don’t need his trust.

Or his fucking praise.

I just need to find out who the fuck had the balls to hit the Den and why.

I follow him inside.

Beneath the club, it is dark, quiet—almost like the place is closed for business. But it’s not. It’s Thursday and after three decades the Den is still one of the hottest night spots in Jersey City.

Still, the evidence of last night’s invasion lingers.

The security panel the robbers dismantled still sits near the back entrance.

A bullet hole in the hallway leading to the offices.

The stink of bleach lingers, and the noticeable lack of blood on the floor greets us. It’s been scrubbed clean, but I still know what was there.

Angel walks ahead of me, pointing out key security flaws—positions that were compromised, exits that were breached, and new protocols he’s already put in place.

He’s meticulous. Efficient.

And for the first time since marrying Aella, I feel something close to respect for him.

The man is a fucking fortress.

I motion for my team to move, positioning them strategically throughout the club, covering any remaining vulnerabilities.

I won’t say it, but Angel’s done a damn good job securing this place in the aftermath of the attack.

Not that he’d accept the compliment anyway.

When the brief walkthrough is done, Angel leads me to his office.

He moves behind his massive black desk, gestures toward the chair across from him.

The room is thick with tension, the kind that sinks deep into your bones and coils around your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Angel Fury sits across from me, his massive frame hunched forward over his desk, forearms braced against the polished wood.

His bright, assessing eyes burn into mine, and even though I know he wants me to squirm, I don’t give him the satisfaction.

I settle into the chair, back straight, shoulders squared. If this is a pissing contest, I’m not losing.

“Now,” he says, his voice the low growl of a man who’s spent a lifetime in power, commanding men, striking fear. “Tell me what the fuck you know.”

I take a moment, slow and deliberate, inhaling through my nose as I consider how to phrase my answer. I know it’ll piss him off, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“I spent all day on the phone with my old contacts. I came up empty.”

“In other words, you got nothing.” His lip curls in disgust. “Big fucking surprise.”

The door swings open, cutting through the thick hostility in the air. Nico Fury and Luc Batiste step inside, bringing with them a shift in energy. The weight of authority is different now—not just suffocating, but layered. Political .

The King of the Vipers levels his gaze on me, and I see the resemblance immediately. Nico Fury is like an older, more calculated version of his son, Nico Jr., but the power rolling off him is different.

Colder. More absolute.

He doesn’t just command respect. He owns it.

“Sammy.” Luc offers a nod before extending his hand. “Good to see you. How’s your father?”

I shake his hand, firm but not too eager. “He’s good, thank you.”

“Are we done with the fucking hellos?” Angel growls, eyes flashing with barely restrained rage.

Luc smirks, deliberately slow and unbothered, like a man who enjoys pressing buttons. “Alright.”

It’s a small moment, but I catch it. How much Angel hates being questioned, how much it grates on him when men like Luc toy with his patience.

I stifle my amusement, barely.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” Nico starts, his voice slow and deliberate. “Your, uh, daddy-in-law here—” he jerks his thumb at Angel, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Fuck you,” Angel mutters.

Nico grins, clearly enjoying himself before continuing. “Thinks you might be useful on deck. So, you’re gonna work the club like one of our team, with your guys, for a week or so. However long it takes to flush these fuckers out, yeah?”

I nod once. “Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure, Mr. Fury.”

“Good. I gotta go pick up my Rosebud for dinner. Angel, don’t kill him. I promised Sisi you wouldn’t,” Nico adds with casual indifference, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eye that says he’s watching.

My eyebrows rise slightly.

Aella’s mother got to him? That’s unexpected.

“Shit. She told you too?” Angel grumbles.

“Your wife is a feisty one. Tough as nails. Now play nice,” Nico replies, dipping his chin before turning toward the door.

Luc claps me on the shoulder. “I gotta run, too. Maria’s waiting on me. Good luck, Sammy.”

And just like that, they’re gone. The door clicks shut behind them, and I exhale slowly, my patience thinning. I already hate the idea of playing bouncer in this club, but Angel is right.

Whoever these guys are, they’re trained. Military trained.

And that means this wasn’t just some random hit.

The way they moved, the way they infiltrated, the precision of the entire job all points to something bigger. Something calculated.

And I will find out what.

I push back from my chair and rise to my feet. “I’ll head back to my team.”

But just as I turn, Angel stops me with a voice so low it barely reaches my ears.

“When this is over,” he says, quiet, deliberate, “I want you to leave her.”

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn back to face him, but my pulse is already pounding in my ears. My heart is a fucking war drum inside my chest, hammering out a rhythm that’s pure rage.

“What?” My voice is quiet, but the danger is there. Curling beneath the surface.

Angel Fury stares at me like he’s already decided I’m not enough. Like he’s waiting for me to prove him right.

“I said, leave her.”

His office feels smaller now. The walls pressing in, the air thick with something dark and suffocating.

I inhale sharply, forcing my rage to settle, forcing the beast inside me to stay leashed.

“With all due respect, Mr. Fury,” I say, my voice deadly calm, “fuck you.”

His reaction is instant.

He moves fast for a man his size, shoving back from his desk so hard his chair slams against the floor, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

“Don’t fuck with me, boy.” His eyes flash with barely-contained fury. “You’re not good enough for her.”

I step in closer, deliberate, closing the distance between us.

“I am the only one for her.”

His nostrils flare, his fists curling at his sides.

“Bullshit. You know what you are? A fucked up soldier boy with too many scars and too much blood on your hands?—”

I laugh, low and humorless. “Look who’s talking.” My voice is sharp as a blade. “How many men have you buried, Angel?”

His jaw clenches.

“We’re not talking about that,” he bites out. “We’re talking about my daughter .”

I snarl, stepping into his space. “She’s my wife .”

“She’s too good for you,” he repeats, hissing like the Viper he is.

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair, forcing myself to calm the fuck down. Because the worst part?

He’s right.

I don’t deserve Aella.

Not her sweetness.

Not her light.

Not the way she looks at me like I’m good.

But there’s one thing he doesn’t fucking understand.

I don’t care if I deserve her or not.

Because she’s mine.

And I will never fucking let her go.

I step back, inhaling deeply, letting my voice drop to something dark and unwavering.

“I might not deserve Aella.” I tilt my head, staring him down, every word slow and certain. “But I’m keeping her, Mr. Fury. Until the day I fucking die.”

I pause, letting the words settle before adding, “And maybe longer than that.”

His mouth presses into a thin line, fury vibrating off of him, but I don’t wait for his response.

I turn, shoulders squared, and walk out of his office.

I’ve got a job to do.

And I need to find these motherfuckers.

Because the sooner I do, the sooner I can go home to my wife.

Mine.