I checked the peephole, and the sleep was instantly stripped from my brain. My blood, already warm from the night's passion, turned to ice.

​Standing in the hallway was Volkov. He looked like a statue of granite, his face illuminated by the harsh, clinical light of the Peninsula's corridor.

​"Fuck," I hissed under my breath. "This guy again."

​I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to shake the fog of exhaustion, then exhaled slowly before swinging the door open. I didn't open it all the way—I wasn't about to let him get a glimpse of Sasha's sleeping form—but I stepped into the gap, filling the frame with my bare chest.

​"Okay, boy, what do you want?" I growled, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice. "It's four a.m. for fuck's sake."

​Volkov's eyes didn't flicker. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the scratches on my torso and the disheveled state of my hair. A slow, mocking curl touched the corner of his mouth.

​"Watch it. Don't push your luck," Volkov said, his voice like grinding stones. He gestured vaguely at my half-naked form. "Put on some pants and follow me."

​I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms to show him I wasn't intimidated by his size. "And why exactly would I follow you into the middle of the night?"

​I already knew the answer. In this town, there was only one person with the gravity to pull a man out of bed at this hour.

​"Because Big Mom wants you," he said. The way he said her name—with a mix of reverence and fear—made the air in the hallway feel ten degrees colder.

​I looked back at the darkened room behind me. Sasha was still a peaceful silhouette under the sheets, finally resting after the most honest night of her life. The thought of leaving her now felt like a betrayal, but you didn't say no to the woman who pulled the strings of the entire valley.

​"Okay, wait there, Ginger Boy," I said, giving him a sharp, disrespectful smirk. "Give me a few seconds."

I slid into my pants and threw on a fresh shirt, the fabric feeling heavy against my skin after the heat of the night. I grabbed a pen and a piece of hotel stationery from the desk, scribbling the words quickly:

[Business called. Stay put. You're mine. - D]

I placed the note on the nightstand right next to her hand, where the first light of dawn would hit it. I took one last look at her—the way her hair spilled across the white silk, the peace on her face—and then I turned my back on the sanctuary and stepped into the war.

​I pulled the door shut softly behind me. Volkov was leaning against the opposite wall, his massive frame casting a long shadow down the hallway.

​"Take me to her room then," I said, my voice steady.

​Volkov gave a curt, robotic nod and started walking. I followed him down the plush, silent corridors of the Peninsula. We took a private service elevator to a floor that required a special keycard, eventually stopping in front of a double-door suite at the very end of the hall. It was the exact room number Two-bit had whispered to me—the heart of the spider's web.

​Volkov reached out and opened the door without a single knock. He stepped aside, his cold, pale eyes burning into mine with a look that said he'd love nothing more than to snap my neck if I gave him a reason.

​"After you," he said, the words dripping with loathing.

​I didn't blink. I gave him a slow, arrogant smile, letting him know that his muscle didn't move me and the woman inside didn't scare me. I adjusted my collar, squared my shoulders, and walked into the lions' den.

​The suite was vast, dimly lit, and smelled of expensive tobacco and old money. The floor-to-ceiling windows were open, letting the roar of the LA wind swirl through the room. Standing by the glass, draped in a heavy silk robe and looking out at the city she helped build, was Big Mom.

​She didn't turn around immediately. She just blew a thin stream of smoke into the air.

​"You've been a very busy boy tonight, Druski," she said, her voice a low, melodic rasp that carried the weight of a death sentence. "The Vault. Cami. Evelyn Sun. You're making quite the collection of friends. The kind of friends that make people like me... curious."

​She turned slowly, her eyes sharp as glass, scanning my face for a hint of fear.

The silence in the suite was heavy, broken only by the low hum of the city far below. I let my gaze wander over her—she didn't look like a woman who had been woken up; she looked like a queen who hadn't yet bothered to sleep.

​"You're clearly well-informed, Monet," I said, my voice steady despite the exhaustion clawing at my nerves. "I'm impressed. Truly. It seems your reach extends much further than the Valley."

​She took a long, slow drag of her cigarette, the tip glowing like a warning light in the shadows. She exhaled a twin stream of smoke from her nostrils, her feline eyes tracking me with predatory precision.

​"I was surprised to find you in LA so soon after I told you I was heading here myself," she rasped, stepping closer until the scent of her vintage perfume and expensive tobacco clouded my senses. "Tell me, Druski... did you follow me? Are you stalking me now?"

​I didn't flinch. Instead, I let a slow, confident smile play on my lips. I took a half-step into her space, letting the heat of my body—still radiating from the hour I'd spent with Sasha—brush against the cool silk of her robe.

​"Stalking is such a harsh word, ma'am," I whispered, my tone dropping into a smooth, resonant baritone. "I wouldn't dare stalk a woman of your position. But I couldn't help but follow a woman so beautiful my eyes simply refuse to look anywhere else."

​Her eyes scanned my face, looking for the lie, but all she found was the raw, arrogant charm of a man who knew he was the most valuable asset in the room.

​She reached out, her fingers—cold and rings-heavy—tracing the line of my jaw before coming to rest on my throat. She didn't squeeze, but the threat was there, humming beneath her touch.

​"Beautiful, am I?" she murmured, her voice a dangerous purr. "Careful, Druski. Many men have tried to use flattery to blind me. Most of them are currently looking for work in hell."

The tension in the room snapped, replaced by a thick, magnetic heat. I leaned down until our breaths mingled, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that vibrated between us. "You don't have to pretend with me, baby girl. I know exactly why you summoned me here at four in the morning."

​She tilted her head, a ghost of a challenge still flickering in her eyes, though her breathing had hitched. "Really? And what's the reason again?"

​"You want me to remind you of our last session in New York," I said, my gaze dropping to her lips before locking back onto hers. "You want me just as much as I want you. Don't play games with a man who knows your body better than your own lawyers do."

​"Are you sure about that?" she murmured, her voice losing its icy edge, the confidence she usually wore like armor starting to fray at the seams.

​I didn't answer with words. I slid my hands down, my palms finding the sharp, elegant curve of her hips through the expensive silk. I pulled her firmly against me, letting her feel exactly how ready I was, even after the night I'd just had. "Your hips don't lie, baby," I rasped. "I can feel the way you're shaking."

​The defiance in her eyes melted into raw hunger. She leaned in, tilting her head back, and exhaled a final, slow plume of smoke directly into my mouth. As the gray mist swirled between us, she surged forward, and our lips met in a crash of silk, tobacco, and desperate power.

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