Page 3 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

P resent Day (Summer)—On the Parkway Just After Lucy and Balor’s Party

Did I plan to kidnap the object of my obsession from Balor Cruz and Lucy Volkov’s backyard premiere party?

Not exactly.

It practically dropped into my lap, wrapped in red silk and stardust like a gift the universe owed me.

One moment, Leanna Volkov is laughing under the string lights like some untouchable fairy queen—lips glossed, throat bare, champagne in one hand, her red dress hugging every goddamn curve like it was stitched by sin itself.

She glows.

Radiates.

Like the world was made to orbit her.

And all I can think is mine .

She twirls beneath the stars, completely unaware.

Unaware that the devil is watching her.

Not just watching. Calculating.

Because she doesn't know the rules have already changed.

She doesn’t know I stopped being patient the second I saw her looking so free, so perfect, so ripe for taking.

The devil, of course, is me.

And the next moment?

She’s walking to her car—which just so happens to be parked beside mine.

Alone.

Stupidly, blissfully alone.

She never sees me coming.

I move like a shadow— silent, sure, ready —and press the needle to her soft skin, my other hand covering her mouth before she can let out so much as a whimper.

Two breaths.

That’s all it takes for the sedative to kick in.

I catch her before she hits the ground. Gather her up in my arms like the precious fucking treasure she is.

Then, I slide her into the passenger seat of my SUV, her head resting against the pillow I placed there hours ago, just in case.

Because I hoped.

Because I knew.

I leave her keys tucked just beneath her front tire and send one quick text to one of my most trusted men, who will know what to do.

Her car will vanish without a trace. Just like she did.

By the time anyone notices she’s gone, I’ll be halfway to the estate I built for her.

Now she’s in my car.

Unconscious.

Breathing softly.

Head lolled to the side like a sleeping beauty caught in a dream.

My Princess.

Keyword is, of course, mine .

My hands are steady, but my heart is pounding.

I lick my lips, and glance at her just for a second.

I can’t stare long because I’m driving. And I’m always careful when I drive. But even more so now because she’s here with me.

Finally.

I should feel guilty, maybe.

Shame. Fear.

But I don’t.

I feel nothing but calm. Well, and some excitement.

This was inevitable.

Like a force of nature.

Nothing and no one could have stopped it.

And really, they never should’ve let her out of their sight.

Because now? She’s where she belongs.

Under my control.

Wrapped in the dark I've curated just for her.

The SUV cuts through the winding coastal roads of the Jersey Shore, tires eating up asphalt slick with salt and shadow.

I take the long route—not because I have to, but because I want to savor this.

The silence. The anticipation. Her .

Every breath she takes, soft and shallow beside me, is a goddamn miracle wrapped in velvet and sin.

We’re heading to the estate I built with her in mind.

Not a safe house. Not a bunker.

A fortress.

A sanctuary.

The picture-perfect mansion.

And it’s all for her.

Every square inch of it tailored to her taste—black roses everywhere, especially in the garden, because she once paused too long in front of a bouquet at that charity gala, blackout drapes in the main suite in the exact shade of her lipstick, a clawfoot tub big enough for two because she likes to soak, and a library because she loves to read.

I noticed.

I always notice.

It’s a place no one knows about—because no one deserves to.

Not yet.

Not until she accepts it.

Not until she walks barefoot through those marble halls, touches the furniture I picked out with her in mind, curls up in the bed I’ve never slept in— because it wasn’t real until she was in it.

I didn’t build her a gilded cage.

I’m not pretending to be some white knight galloping in to rescue the damsel.

That’s not who I am.

Never was. Never will be.

I’m the exact opposite.

I’m the monster they warned her about in bedtime stories— the shadow behind the curtain, the one who waits, who plans.

I’m a real chip off the old block, born of blood and raised to rule my empire of steel and cement, my kingdom of lies, without mercy.

Fury is my name.

Nico Jr. to be exact.

You've heard of my father?

Yeah, you have.

Well, I’m worse.

The crowned prince of Viper Enterprises.

Heir to the empire my father built alongside my uncles—Luc and Angel.

Men who didn’t inherit power, they took it. Bent the world to their will.

And me? I’m like the upgraded version of those three menaces.

Because I was born with advantages my father and uncles had to claw through the dirt and blood to earn.

Things they bled for. Killed for. Things my mother nearly died protecting.

I didn’t waste what they gave me—I sharpened it.

Refined it.

While the world underestimated me, I studied.

I mastered the law, every loophole, every clause, every technicality that could be twisted into a weapon.

Now when they try to bust us?

I’m the one who walks into courtrooms with a smile and walks out with verdicts that reshape the game.

I know how to play by the rules—but it’s more than that.

I own them .

I rewrite them.

I make new ones.

I’ve got more judges in my pocket than a gambler has poker chips.

More politicians answering my calls than they do their constituents.

I grease the gears of the system with quiet favors and untraceable accounts, and in return?

I get power that doesn’t need blood on its hands— unless I want it there.

Unlike all these new wannabes, men who think they’re the new John Gotti , trying to climb the ladder, I don’t need to posture.

When I want to get something done? I don’t even need to leave a trail of bodies behind me.

I can smile across a boardroom table and gut a man’s future with a signature.

I can destroy legacies with a well-timed phone call.

But don’t mistake that for softness.

Just because I’ve got polish doesn’t mean I won’t get dirty.

I’ll wade through blood if I have to.

Break bones. Shatter kneecaps. Crush windpipes with my bare hands if it means protecting what’s mine.

I can and I have.

My father taught me how.

He sees it every time I take things further than he ever dared.

I’ve made him proud—not just by expanding the empire, but by proving that I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

No hesitation. No flinching.

The OG Vipers— my dad, Luc, and Angel —they built the kingdom with fists and fire.

They clawed their way through a world that tried to bury them, and they came out gods.

But me?

I’m building a dynasty.

A legacy soaked in power, sharpened by strategy, and yes— stained with blood when necessary.

I don’t fear violence.

I understand it.

Respect it.

Use it like a scalpel or a hammer, depending on the mission and maybe even the day of the week.

Right now, there is only one thing that matters.

Leanna Volkov.