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I pull Quinn close, my fingers tangling in her silky strawberry-blonde hair, and kiss her.

She melts into me, her curves fitting perfectly against my body.

“Mmm, good morning to you too,” she murmurs, eyes sparkling with mischief as we break apart.

“Someone's in a good mood.”

“How can I not be waking up with you in my arms?” I flash her a roguish grin, my hands roaming over the smooth expanse of her back. Sometimes, it still amazes me how utterly right this feels—like she was made just for me.

Quinn laughs, a breathy sound that pierces my heart. “Always the charmer, Zolotov.” She glides a finger along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. “If you keep this up, we might never leave this bed.”

“Is that a promise?” I nip playfully at her earlobe.

She swats my chest. “Behave. Some of us have work to do, you know.”

“In a bit. I'm not done with you yet.” I flip us over, pinning her beneath me as I trail hot kisses down the graceful column of her throat. Quinn sighs in pleasure, hands fisting in my hair.

My mind drifts as I lose myself in her sweet surrender, marveling at the unexpected turn my life has taken. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would fall head over heels for the feisty woman I kidnapped, I would have laughed in their face. But here we are. I've never been happier.

Later that week, I'm in the shower when the door creaks open. Quinn freezes, eyes wide as they rake over my naked form.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize—”

I don't let her finish, reaching out to snag her wrist and tug her under the warm spray with me, designer suit and all. She squeals in surprise, water plastering her hair to her head.

“Mark! What are you doing? I'm fully dressed!”

“Not for long,” I growl, peeling the soaked fabric from her skin. She shivers from the cold, or anticipation—I'm not sure. All I know is I need her, right here, right now.

We make love under the cascading water, desperate and needy. Like we'll never get enough of each other. Maybe we won't. All I know is she has ruined me for anyone else.

That weekend, I find her passed out at her desk, hair mussed and papers strewn everywhere. My workaholic girl. I shake my head with a fond smile, scooping her up and carrying her to bed.

She stirs groggily as I tuck her in. “Mark?

What time is it?”

“Late. You need rest.”

The next morning, I surprise her with breakfast in bed.

Quinn props herself up on her elbows, taking in the feast with an arched brow.

“You cooked? Who are you and what have you done with Mark Zolotov?”

“Don't get used to it,” I grumble, but I'm not really annoyed. I like taking care of her. It feels right, natural.

As she digs in with appreciative moans, I study her, committing every detail to memory: the way the sunlight turns her hair to burnished copper, the fullness of her rose-tinted lips, and those captivating green eyes.

In this moment, it hits me hard. This is it for me. She's it for me. I can't imagine my life without her in it anymore. This infuriating, passionate, brilliant woman has carved out a place for herself in my blackened heart.

And god help anyone who tries to take her from me.

***

I stride into my office, where my brothers are already gathered around the mahogany conference table. Their faces are grim, souring my mood, which has been on a constant happy high by Quinn’s side.

“What’s so urgent?

” I demand, taking my seat at the table.

Abram slides a folder my way.

“Preliminary intel points to Charlie Letvin. It seems the prick couldn't resist the opportunity to take a swipe at us, and he’s the one who planned the attack against us that night we went back for the shipment the Smirnovs stole from us.”

I flip through the pages, jaw clenching as the evidence mounts. Security camera stills show Charlie's men lurking around our territories. Transcripts of intercepted phone calls show suspicious transactions with men for hire. Financial records show suspicious transactions with men for hire.

“Cocky bastard,” Denis snarls.

“Thinks he can fuck with the Zolotovs and walk away unscathed?”

Vladimir, ever the strategist, leans forward.

“It's a bold move, even for Letvin. The question is, why now? What's his endgame?”

I steeple my fingers, my mind whirring.

Charlie and I have been rivals since our school days, always trying to outdo each other.

But this... this crosses a line.

He attacked us when we were drawing a boundary with someone who crossed us.

Even wars have rules.

“Doesn't matter,” I say decisively. “We’ll send the Letvins a clear message.”

“The thing is,” Abram clears his throat. “The Letvins aren’t the problem.”

“Oh?”

“Charlie acted alone. His clan is in the dark.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, confusion rippling through me. “He couldn’t have acted alone.”

“He hired thugs for the attack. The Letvin crew was sitting idle that night,” my brother explains.

“Which means he wanted to keep it secret.” I put two and two together. “His family won’t wish to cross us.”

My brothers nod in unison, a fierce, unified front.

“The Letvins have never been a problem,” Vladimir adds. “Charlie has.”

“We need to send a message,” Denis suggests, a glint in his eye. “Remind him who he's dealing with.”

“Agreed.” I stand, buttoning my suit jacket. “We'll confront him directly. Show him that we are not to be trifled with.”

***

The warehouse reeks of fear and desperation as we stride in, our footsteps echoing like gunshots in the cavernous space. Charlie Letvin stands in the center, flanked by his hired men.

“Mark.” Charlie spreads his arms wide, a mockery of welcome. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I was so thrilled you called for a meeting.”

I smile, cold and sharp as a blade. “Cut the bullshit, Charlie. You know exactly why we're here.”

His eyes narrow. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“The attack on us while we raided the Smirnovs.” I take a step forward, gratified when he flinches. “Did you really think we wouldn't find out it was you?”

Charlie scoffs, but I can see the sweat beading on his brow. “You've got it all wrong, Mark. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Lie to me again,” I growl, “and I'll rip your tongue out myself.”

The tension in the room ratchets up, thick enough to choke on. My brothers fan out behind me, a silent, menacing presence.

His men draw their guns, and my brothers and I follow suit, aiming ours directly at Charlie.

“If any of your men shoot, it’ll be you who goes down first.”

“I-I swear,” Charlie stammers, his cockiness evaporating like mist. “It wasn't me. I wouldn't dare...”

I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the wall. “Listen closely, you sniveling worm. If you ever come near us or Quinn again, if you so much as breathe in our direction or hers, I will end you. Slowly. Painfully. Until you're begging for death.”

Charlie's eyes bulge, his face turning an amusing shade of purple. “Please,” he wheezes. “I can’t breath.”

I release him, watching with disgust as he crumples to the floor. “You're lucky I'm feeling generous today. Consider this your one and only warning. If you cross us again, we will go to your clan and show them the evidence we have of the coordinated attack you pulled off against us. We will declare war on all Letvins. Let’s see who shelters you then, when your family realizes you were the one responsible for their fall. You’ll have nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.”

We turn to leave, our point made. But I pause at the door, glancing back over my shoulder. “Oh, and Charlie? If I were you, I wouldn’t try anything smart. Because next time, there won't be any mercy.”

As we exit into the crisp night air, I feel a rush of savage satisfaction. The Zolotovs’ power is absolute, unquestioned. And heaven help anyone foolish enough to test it.

***

The drive home feels like an eternity, my body thrumming with restless energy. I can't wait to see Quinn, to wrap her in my arms, and to share the good news. With Charlie dealt with, we can finally focus on ourselves and on building a future together.

I pull into the driveway, almost jumping out of the car. The house is warm and inviting, with the soft glow of lights calling me inside. I can already picture Quinn curled up on the couch, her nose buried in a book, waiting for me.

“Quinn?” I call out as I step into the foyer, shrugging off my coat. “Sweetheart, I'm home.”

Silence greets me, an eerie stillness that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones. At this time, Quinn would be eating dinner, or reading a book, or listening to a record, or the news.

“Quinn?” I try again, my voice echoing through the empty halls.

I move further into the house, my heart pounding against my ribs. The living room is deserted, and a half-empty wine glass is on the coffee table. I check the kitchen and the study, growing more frantic with each empty room.

“Quinn, where are you?”

Panic claws at my throat as I take the stairs two at a time. Our bedroom door is ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. I push it open, bracing myself for the worst.

And there she is, my beautiful Quinn, curled up on the bed. Relief crashes over me like a wave, so intense it nearly brings me to my knees.

“There you are,” I murmur, crossing to her side. “I was worried sick.”

But as I draw closer, I realize something's off. Her face is pale, her brow furrowed in pain. She clutches her stomach, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

“Quinn?” I drop to my knees beside the bed, my hand finding hers. “What's wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She looks up at me, her green eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Mark,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I don’t know...I’m in so much pain.”

My heart stops, the world screeching to a halt around me. “What do you mean? What's happening?”

Quinn takes a shuddering breath, her fingers digging into her stomach. “Cramps. Really bad ones. I've never felt anything like this before.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the icy terror clawing its way up my throat. “Okay. Okay, we're going to figure this out.” I brush a strand of hair back from her forehead, my hand lingering on her cheek. “I'm right here, Quinn. I'm not going anywhere.”

She nods, leaning into my touch.