Page 1 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)
C hristmas Eve
The Volkov estate is dripping in gold.
Crystal snowflakes hang from the chandeliers, the fireplaces roar in every room, and there’s champagne on ice beside thousand-dollar vodka no one touches until Adrik gives the nod.
Laughter echoes off the marble floors, and everywhere I look, people are smiling for photos, pretending they belong here.
Pretending they’re equals.
I’m not smiling.
I don’t need to pretend.
I belong right here with the Wolves and Vipers.
Because I’m one of them.
And because she’s here.
Leanna.
Draped in deep green velvet, her hair curled in glossy waves, a slit running up her leg that might kill me if I look too long.
She’s holding a glass of something fizzy and festive, laughing at something her cousin whispered in her ear.
The room glows around her like it knows she’s the reason it was decorated in the first place.
She doesn’t see me.
Not really.
She never does.
Not here.
Not at these dinners.
Not at the spring garden parties, or the fall wine tastings, or the fucking Volkov Foundation charity auctions where everyone’s on their best behavior.
But I see her.
Every fucking time.
I’ve made sure we’re always at the same events.
Close enough that our worlds stay orbiting, far enough that she never connects the dots.
Her father always invites me, of course.
I was raised beside the Volkovs.
I’ve been to their homes.
Broke bread with them.
Their patriarch, Adrik Volkov, knows me by name. He’s called me son once or twice over brandy and cigars at those legacy dinners our families throw like ancient kings reenacting feasts from a fallen empire.
I’ve sat at his table, toasted his victories, listened to him curse and praise the market in equal breath.
I know the man well enough to read the shift in his jaw when he’s suspicious, and the gleam in his eye when he’s playing a long game.
His wife, Sofia Volkov—Leanna’s mother—sends my family holiday cards. Elegant things, always signed in her perfect, looping script.
She’s warm, shrewd, and far more dangerous than she lets on.
She’s also seen me grow up.
Hell, Sofia might’ve wiped my nose once or twice when I was a toddler stumbling around the Volkov estate during one of those endless summer luncheons.
My parents and hers, my uncles and aunts—we all orbit the same sun.
Our families rose in parallel.
From blood and broken bones.
From loyalty and brutality.
We came up from nothing. From slums and syndicates. And we did what needed to be done to carve out power.
Now, we sit at the top of the world.
Two dynasties— Volkov and Fury —legitimate enough to stand beside prime ministers, terrifying enough to keep our enemies awake at night.
But Leanna?
Leanna is a different story.
She’s younger than I am.
Eight years.
But it’s not the number that matters— it’s the light.
She’s pure light in a world that’s only ever shown me shadows.
She walks into a room, and the whole fucking place bends toward her like sunflowers to the dawn.
And me?
I’m just a shadow in the corner of her eye.
A flicker on the edge of the frame.
The son of her parents’ friends.
The brooding one.
The dangerous one they probably warned her about without ever saying my name.
“Junior, how have you been?” Connor Callahan approaches, and I shake his hand.
“Connor. Balor,” I greet them both.
“This is some setup, huh?”
“You should know. It’s your father-in-law’s place, isn’t it?” I reply casually.
Connor just grunts, but his eyes are across the room on his redheaded wife and the babies she’s carrying in her arms.
“Pardon me, I better go help.”
But he’s grinning, and that makes me think he doesn’t mind one bit.
I’m surprised to see a man like him settling down with his wife, who’s fifteen years his junior. But he’s taken to it like a fish takes to the sea.
“Married life suits your cousin,” I tell Balor who just nods at me.
His mismatched eyes are scanning the room, and I know who for, but I don’t mention it.
We all have our weaknesses.
His is Lucy Volkov.
Mine is her cousin.
So, who am I to judge?
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and I know he’s found her.
Meanwhile, I move to another corner, finding my target easily.
Goddamn it, Leanna, do you know what you do to me?
But she doesn’t.
Of course, she doesn’t.
I’ve kept my distance.
For years.
Because she wasn’t ready.
Because I wasn’t.
But tonight? Tonight it’s unbearable.
It’s Christmas Eve, and the Volkov estate is dressed like a goddamn postcard.
Snow on the hedges, lights blinking softly in the windows.
Firelight flickering across crystal and bone china.
A family orchestra warming up in the parlor.
I stand near the bar nursing a glass of something expensive, pretending I give a shit about the conversation unfolding around me.
But I can’t take my eyes off her.
Leanna.
She’s in green.
A soft velvet thing, dark as the edge of a fairytale forest.
Her hair is pinned up with little white pearls like stars scattered in a dark sky.
Her lips are red and soft, and she laughs with someone— a friend, maybe —and I want to kill him for making her smile like that.
She doesn’t see me.
Not really.
But I see her.
I see everything.
And I feel it— deep in my bones —that the time is coming.
Everything I’ve built.
Every step I’ve taken.
Every deal, every alliance, every ruthless fucking decision has been for this.
For her. For us.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
But she will.
I can’t take her yet—not like this.
Not before I finish tying off the last few threads.
Not until the world I’m building is worthy of her throne.
Because when I come for her?
She won’t see me coming.
And when she falls?
She’s falling straight into the arms of the Viper who’s loved her in silence for far too long.
And I will never let her go.
I know it as surely as I know my name, Nico Samuel Fury Jr. and even now, as I stand near the bar, half-hidden behind a polished column wrapped in garland and white lights, sipping from a glass I’ve refilled twice without drinking, I can feel it coming.
Soon. Just not yet.
So, for now, I wait, and I watch.
She flits from group to group, making merry and greeting guests.
She hugs someone— some prick acquaintance I’ve always hated —and I have to unclench my jaw before I crack a molar.
She’s not doing anything wrong.
She's not flirting.
She’s just being her .
Warm. Thoughtful. Effortless.
And so damn beautiful it makes my chest ache.
I know what she smells like.
Always the same. Always tempting. Fresh lemon verbena and sultry roses.
I know how long she lingers in the garden after dinner when she thinks no one’s watching.
I know she can’t stand caviar but always takes a bite, just so her father won’t comment on her appetite.
I know her favorite books.
The romantasies she devours— I’ve even read them, and yeah, they made me blush the first time.
Fairies fucking is so a thing.
Now, I’m addicted to them, too.
I follow her social media accounts— even the ones she doesn’t tell anyone about .
I know what time she turns off her bedroom light.
I know everything about her.
And she still doesn’t see me.
Not really.
But I feel her.
With every breath.
Every heartbeat.
Every time she tosses her hair or tilts her head back in a laugh that’s too big for the room, I feel it in my spine like a wire pulled taut.
I’ve waited long enough.
Waited while boys with soft hands and empty words tried to win her over.
Waited while her world stayed gilded and untouched.
Waited while she grew up—curvier, sharper, smarter.
Waited until she was ready.
Now, she’s almost ready.
And me?
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
This is the last holiday dinner I’ll attend like a ghost.
Next year, she’ll sit beside me.
In our home.
Wearing my ring.
Carrying my name and our son.
Looking at me like she sees the truth—that I’m the only one who ever really saw her.
Because I’m done waiting.
I’ve already laid the groundwork.
The estate is almost complete.
The plan is made.
Soon, all that’ll be left is the taking.
Then nothing will stop me from claiming what’s always been mine.
I see you, Princess.
And soon enough, you’re gonna see me.