Page 84 of Desperate Crimes

Focus, Fury.

One wrong move on this deal and we expose more than a holding company—we risk pulling back the curtain on a few strategic shells the Feds would love to poke at.

Good thing I built the whole structure myself.

With my own two hands and a law degree sharpened into a scalpel.

The shit they didn’t teach me in school?

My father and uncles bled to pass that down.

Power, but clean. Violence, but hidden. Law, but leveraged.

I glance up as my father enters, silent as the shadow he is. Nico Fury might be the Viper King to the world, but to me, he’s the man who taught me how to strike without leaving a mark.

He sinks into the chair at the head of the table, drapes an arm along the back, and watches me like the serpent he is.

“You got this, Junior?”

I nod once, confident. “I got it, Dad.”

He doesn’t smile, but I know that look.

It’s trust. Real trust. And it fucking humbles me.

Or it should.

But Leanna Volkov has me fucked six ways to Sunday.

He walks out of the room, leaving me alone.

And I can’t help it.

I mean, I try not to check my phone. Try to stay in the zone.

This contract needs to go through today.

Clean signatures.

No blood.

But still, I check.

And the second I do, everything shifts.

She’s gone.

Gone.

She left.

No text. No message. No goodbye.

Without a word.

Like I’m just some passing obsession and not the man who remade his world for her.

Just disappeared like she hadn’t come in my mouth the night before, hadn’t moaned like a broken prayer as I claimed every inch of her.