Page 31 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

T he wrought iron gates creak open, as if they’ve been waiting centuries for this moment.

Or maybe that’s just how I feel inside.

Our limo rolls through slowly, as if it knows we’re driving toward a reckoning.

My parents’ mansion on the Long Island Sound looms ahead, glowing like something out of a dream—or a fairytale with too many teeth.

Every window is lit.

Tiny lights flicker in and out of existence across the long, gauzy drapes. Warm golden bulbs dance across the manicured lawn where valets hustle to park expensive cars, and the air smells like hydrangeas and ocean wind.

Mom has outdone herself. Again.

Wreaths of white roses and twisted bay laurel arch over the entryway. Strings of even more fairy lights glitter like stars tangled in spider silk.

Somewhere, violins play something soft and haunting—beautiful, fragile, like the calm before the storm.

It’s a goddamn masterpiece.

And I’m about to blow the whole thing to hell.

My stomach is doing flips.

My pulse trips and stutters.

My dress clings to my thighs, the blue silk whispering secrets with every step.

But it’s not the gown that keeps me upright.

Not the heels.

Not the expensive jewelry or bloodline or spine I’ve been trained to keep straight since I was old enough to smile for photographs.

It’s him.

Nico. My husband.

He takes my hand without a word.

Fingers laced. Tight. Sure. Possessive in the way that says I dare anyone to question this.

The ring he surprised me with this morning glitters in the light—a custom-cut blue diamond, the same shade as his eyes, set in gold and platinum shaped like an unbroken infinity band.

Our initials are carved on the inside. L + N. My breath catches every time it catches the light.

And tonight? It catches everything.

He’s not wearing one, and that bothers me. But I haven’t mentioned it yet.

We step up the stairs, two shadows made of silk and fire.

Inside, I know exactly what we’ll find.

Our entire family. Friends. Associates.

The old guard and the new.

The world we grew up in, polished and sharp-edged, smiling for power and clinking glasses like secrets aren’t crawling under the skin of every single person in the room.

They’re all here to celebrate my father’s birthday.

And we’re about to steal the spotlight with one whispered truth.

We walk through the open doors, the hum of conversation breaking like a wave.

The music doesn’t stop.

Not exactly.

The orchestra keeps playing— a tasteful ensemble tucked behind a velvet curtain near the grand staircase —but the tempo falters.

Just a beat.

Like even the cello knows something’s about to go down.

I feel it before I see it. That hush. That ripple of awareness.

They see us.

Time hiccups.

No— it fractures .

Splits wide open and spills heat and nerves down my spine.

I clutch Nico’s hand tighter, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even slow his step.

All around us, heads turn.

A chair scrapes loud and sharp against the polished marble. Someone coughs.

Another guest slaps a hand too hard on someone’s shoulder in an attempt to play normal.

But I see him.

My father.

Adrik Volkov.

Titan of industry.

Once upon a time he had a reputation that would curdle your blood.

The kind of man who once snapped his fingers and had empires toppled before the ink was dry on the contracts.

But to me?

He’s Dad.

And I’ve never seen him look like this.

Not even when I totaled the Jaguar in college.

Not even when Michaela told him she had married Liam O’Doyle.

So why is he so angry with me?

His jaw ticks.

His spine is a steel rod wrapped in fury.

He tosses the cut-crystal glass of whiskey onto a tray with a loud clink and starts moving—shoulders squared, eyes burning, rage given human form.

I can’t breathe.

My mother sees us, too.

She’s on the other side of the ballroom in a silver gown that probably cost more than my grad school tuition.

She lifts her skirt slightly and begins to walk, her expression unreadable.

Is she going towards me? To him? I don’t know.

Aunt Destiny, ever watchful, snaps her mouth shut, turns and says something sharply to Uncle Marat, who starts moving, too.

Michaela gasps— actually gasps —and Liam steadies her with a hand on her elbow, his knuckles white.

The entire room is moving now. Orbiting around us.

The gravity of this moment is inescapable.

But Nico?

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even adjust his jacket.

Instead, he releases my hand— and I almost stumble from the absence —only to slide his fingers up my arm.

Slow. Intentional. Possessive.

Until his hand wraps lightly, intimately, around the curve of my neck.

My eyes flutter. Shame and heat crash inside me in equal measure.

Now? Now he’s going to touch me like this?

In front of everyone?

And still, I don’t pull away.

Because when his grip tightens— just slightly —I feel anchored. Centered. His claim grounding me in the chaos.

I want to lean into it. Want him to tighten it. To mark me. Let them all see.

But then he pulls back. His touch slips away like silk dragged over bare skin, leaving me bereft.

Empty. Wanting.

He steps forward instead. A shield of tailored Italian linen and seething male dominance.

And I hide behind him.

I let him be the wall between me and the incoming storm.

The air shifts again.

I notice my husband’s father and mother stepping into the room from the terrace doors.

Nico and Anna Fury. Power couple. The King and Queen of the Vipers.

My father-in-law is all muscle and menace wrapped in a custom tux. Anna walks beside him in a mocha colored gown that shimmers with gold thread and crystals when she walks. It’s lovely as she is.

Her eyes are on her son, already scanning for injury.

The Volkovs and the Furys. Wolves and Vipers.

Two dynasties. Two dangerous legacies.

Meeting in one gilded ballroom.

God help us all .

All our cousins are whispering now. Lucy’s mouth falls open. Cora grabs Aella’s hand. Clementine mouths no fucking way as they stare.

And then—he’s in front of us.

Adrik Volkov. My father.

His hands are fists. His eyes are murder.

And his voice? When it cracks through the still air?

It’s low and lethal.

“My office. Now.”

The room shatters.

And all I can do is hold my breath—and pray Nico doesn’t punch my father in front of three hundred people.

I squeeze Nico’s arm, not because I’m scared— at least not in the way I thought I would be —but because this moment is molten with pressure.

My lungs feel too small. My heartbeat too loud. My father’s anger simmers like a bomb, and we’re standing right on top of it.

I’ve never seen him like this.

Not with me.

Because I’ve always been pretty good.

A quiet daughter.

Someone who followed the rules, colored inside the lines.

Until now.

Until him .

Because for the first time in my life, I’m not just playing the part of who I’m supposed to be.

I’m becoming.

Unraveling the old skin. Stepping into something new. Something truer.

Because Nico—God help me—he sees me.

He sees the chaos beneath my calm.

The hunger behind my good manners. The ache I buried under years of performing perfection.

And instead of flinching?

He welcomes it.

He encourages me to rise. To stretch into the full, wild woman I was always meant to be.

He doesn’t tame me.

He dares me.

Dares me to burn brighter. Speak louder. Want more. Take it.

Since day one, he’s been feeding a part of me I didn’t know was starving.

He doesn’t just claim me.

He witnesses me.

Nourishes me with every dark, relentless word and every impossibly tender act that follows.

And I think that’s what’s making me fall harder.

Deeper.

Dangerously in love with him.

Dad stands right in front of us, and I swear, I think he’s growling.

But Nico? He doesn’t flinch beneath the weight of Adrik Volkov’s fury.

His spine is straight steel. His jaw a carved promise.

I don’t know how he does it—how he stands there, untouched, unmoved, like this isn’t my father trying to burn him alive with a glare.

“Sure, Mr. Volkov, we can go to your office,” Nico says calmly, like they’re two men discussing the weather, not the fact that he just married the man’s youngest daughter in secret.

His voice is so smooth, it almost makes me dizzy.

And then—another voice enters the fray.

“Son,” Nico Fury Sr. steps forward, his presence rippling through the room like the hum of distant thunder. He gives me a single nod— measured, dangerous.

Like father, like son.

“Adrik, what’s going on here?” he asks, tone deceptively casual.

My father doesn’t answer right away. He’s still staring at Nico. At me. At us.

The storm in his eyes is building fast. But then he speaks, tight-lipped and cold.

“I just asked Junior and Leanna to join me in my office.”

Nico Fury Sr. doesn’t blink. He’s already moving.

“I think we’ll come too.”

There’s no room for refusal in his voice.

Just like Nico’s.

Just like mine will have to be now, if I want to survive in this family of kings and killers.

Dad nods slowly.

My mother exhales sharply through her nose, eyes fixed on my hand still wrapped around Nico’s arm.

And then— Nico lifts our joined hands.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Like a declaration.

Like a dare.

The chandelier light catches on the stone he placed on my finger this morning.

A custom-cut blue diamond, cool as ocean fire, set in a twisted platinum and gold infinity band.

It glints like a secret whispered into a storm.

Or a promise made in blood.

My father's gaze drops to it. His pupils flare.

First, he looks at my face.

Then at the ring.

Then at Nico.

I swear I feel the very air shift.

A low, rolling crackle of something ancient and inevitable.

Like the moment in a Greek tragedy when the chorus falls silent, and the Fates tighten the thread.

Or when Demeter demanded Hades return her daughter.

I’m not ready for what comes next.

But maybe—with Nico at my side—I could be.

Because whatever we just unleashed?

It’s already too late to stop it.