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M y head was spinning.

The scent of lilacs in my nostrils, making me dizzy as we rode to the penthouse of the building that I was now a majority shareholder in.

The fragrance was almost making me desperate to press my nose against her neck and breathe it right from the source.

It was a subtle distraction in the midst of the whirlwind that had been my life lately.

She smells so fucking fresh and sweet.

The hum of the engine felt oddly out of place with the racing thoughts in my mind. This wasn’t the kind of life I’d ever imagined, but here I was—on the verge of something big.

Something that, despite my best efforts, I could hardly keep from feeling a little giddy about.

ODI was about to explode onto the market with my new nano battery and with it I was going to have the monopoly on that kind of tech. It was the future and there was no stopping it.

But that part of the world where I got my supplies was fraught with corruption, gangs, politicians who were no more than criminals, and the constant threat of war.

Maggie was right to suggest this marriage, but as I stood beside Michaela, I couldn’t help but wish I had something more to offer than a cold merger.

A plan began to shape. One where I started to imagine keeping my princess bride for more than decoration or to be used as a pawn.

I inhaled and took stock of the two of us. How different we were and what I could possibly use to entice her to make this marriage more than was proposed.

I was not an unattractive man.

I had money, which was moot because she probably had more.

But I did just buy this place, and it should appeal to her sensibilities, having been decorated by a professional and with the same level of security as she was accustomed to.

The part of Tribeca I lived in was well known for its celebrity residents, but I liked it for the privacy it afforded.

The kind of quiet luxury that lets you blend in, disappear, or simply be left alone to do the things that mattered.

No paparazzi lurking on every corner, no flashing cameras when you leave your door.

Just space.

And soon, the whole building would be mine. O’Doyle Industries, or ODI as it was better known, was taking off, and this penthouse— this whole damn building —was a symbol of everything I’d worked for.

The money.

The power.

The respect.

I'd fought tooth and nail for this, and I wasn’t about to let anyone think it was just handed to me.

No, this was the result of tons of hours of thought, sweat, strategy, and some well-played risks.

Plans. Big plans.

That’s what it had all boiled down to.

Plans my sister had no idea about, but that was for later. Maggie might be the boss of the family, but I was the CEO of our legit business.

She ran the shadier side of things, managed the family legacy, and all that.

But O’Doyle Industries? That was mine.

And for all the strength and influence she had in this world, Maggie had no say whatsoever about how I ran things at ODI.

She might not like it, but she’d learn to respect it. She had to. This wasn’t about power struggles between us—it was about building something that could stand on its own.

A future that didn’t hinge on the whims of our family dynamics.

Sure, she was the one who kept the old traditions alive, made sure we all showed up at family dinners with our best faces on.

But maybe those old family values should’ve just died along with our bastard of a father.

I wasn’t about following anyone's rules when it came to my vision. I wasn’t interested in her blueprint or anyone else’s.

My business.

My decisions.

Marrying Michaela wasn’t my idea, but it was done now. And it didn’t freak me out like it should have. In fact, it seemed to unlock something inside me,

This is just a merger . Don’t start getting ideas.

I glanced at the reflection of myself in the window. The same angst filled look was still there.

I’d had too many late nights and early mornings over the past month, but I was still hungry. Inside my eyes, I saw the spark of something more.

Something bigger.

Something phenomenal starting to burn through.

And nothing was going to put it out. I needed this to work to finally get out from under Maggie’s thumb. She was too into running things the old way.

But I wanted more from life than to be the son, or brother, of an out of touch mobster.

If being married to a spoiled princess could get it for me, then I could do that. Hell, I’d marry Michaela Volkov five fucking times if she could deliver her father’s aid.

From my time with Viper Enterprises and Volkov Industries, I learned how all those original bad boys made their money.

I managed to piece together the real story of how the Dark Wolf, Adrik Volkov, and his brother Marat had started their business by buying up mines where rare earth minerals needed for tech like smart phones and light bulbs were harvested.

In the early days, when money was still tight, those who refused to sell to the brothers seemed to meet with unfortunate accidents, complaints, permit problems, government sanctions— you name it, those guys felt it —that was, until they saw the wisdom of selling. And for a bargain, of course.

Fucking legend.

The Vipers were not that different. Those Jersey boys managed to gain control of all the major ports from Newark to Jersey City.

The Port of New York and New Jersey is the third-largest port in the U.S. by volume, behind the Port of Los Angeles and the Port of Long Beach. One of the top ten container ports in the entire fucking world. And the Vipers owned it.

Any importers of consumer goods, industrial materials, or food products had to go through them. In terms of global trade, the Vipers had control of the primary gateway for every fucking import coming from Europe, Asia, and other parts of the world.

I needed to maintain my connection with Nico Fury and his lethal partners, Luc Battiste and Angel Fury.

That port was essential for the logistics of my company. I needed to bring my tech into the states with as little fuss as possible.

Corporate espionage was alive and well, and there were plenty of motherfuckers out there who wanted what I was building.

Sure, I’d been pissed at my sister for dropping me in the lap of those scary motherfuckers when I’d been still wet behind the ears. But the shit I’ve learned from the Vipers and the Volkovs was priceless.

And I wasn’t finished yet.

Not by a mile.

I needed to make the name O’Doyle Industries synonymous with power.

Yeah, I’d made some money.

Hundreds of millions of dollars, which was nothing to scoff at. But that was mine, not hers. It was hard-earned by me alone.

I paid Maggie.

She was the head of the family, and it was tradition.

But the rest of it was mine.

I had my own security team, and a wealth of men and women—lawyers, scientists, all of them—working for me in China and right there in New York City.

ODI was mine in every sense.

I was the one who took every cent I could muster and pouring it all into nano-engineering to make better batteries for the future.

The kind used in electric cars and public transportation, cell phones, and anything else they could dream of.

The kind that might eventually save the planet from what we were doing to so rapidly destroy it.

Right now, I was a silent partner in several mines and factories where lithium iron phosphate electrodes were manufactured in Gansu, China.

But my power was being tested, and I needed more muscle than the O’Doyles currently possessed.

I needed help.

But who wanted to aid the son of a dead mafia boss who was a bigger prick than I cared to admit?

Gun running was the most vanilla of the O’Doyle family’s activities.

Ties to IRA bombings were a little uglier.

Then there were the accusations of prostitution rings, pornography, and human trafficking that made me want to puke.

My family name was shit.

I knew it.

Maggie knew it.

But still, we tried to erase the stain of our father’s past.

It was slow fucking going.

My company was picking up steam, but I needed help with my foreign investors, with knowing which palms to grease and which politicians to stay away from.

A lot of fucking help.