I open my eyes. “Maybe not.”

  “Try the next.” His knuckles graze the back of my neck as he leans over my shoulder, warm and close.

  Moving to the second piano, I notice it is made of dark wood and has a deep resonance. I play a few chords. The sound fills the room. “Better.” His thumb settles under my jaw.

  My pulse jumps. I keep playing, my skin prickling as he steps closer. I sense him before his hand finds my throat. Before his thumb presses beneath my jaw and fixes me in place. “You look good here.” His thumb stays under my jaw. “Like you belong at something beautiful.”

  Heat climbs up my spine. My hands stumble on the keys. “Keep going.” He leans closer. “I’m listening.”

  I shift to another piano. This one is glossy black. The keys are soft under my fingers. The vibration hits my ribs first. My breath stutters before I realize it. The moment I touch it, Viktor exhales like he’s been waiting for this exact sound.

  “That’s the one.” He doesn't hesitate.

  I play again. He steps so close the heat of his chest touches my back. His mouth grazes my neck. It is barely a kiss. It's more like a claim he can’t hold back.

  “You’re good.” His mouth brushes my ear. “You know that?”

  “I’m not,” I breathe.

  “You are.” His teeth nip lightly at my skin, sharp enough to make my fingers slip over the keys. I moan into the quiet room, the sound of my pleasure lost in the notes. “You’re good at everything you do for me.”

  My breath shudders. I try another chord just to stay grounded. His hand circles my throat gently and then he tips back my head to claim my mouth. His lips are soft. The faint scent of vodka makes me dizzy. “Play it again,” he says against my mouth. “I want to hear how it sounds when you know I’m touching you.”

  I do. It sounds different. It's like my heartbeat got caught between the notes. His lips trail up to my ear. “Khorosho, zolotse. That’s mine.”

  I swallow. “Are we buying this one?”

  “We’re buying whatever makes you sound like that.” His hand tightens briefly at my throat and he kisses the corner of my jaw. “And we’re taking it home.”

  The words land with the heavy finality of a closing vault. He isn't just buying an instrument; he is buying the silence of my old life and replacing it with a melody he controls. I don't care that the price is my soul because as his hand tightens at my throat, I realize I’d rather be a prisoner in his palace than free in a world where he doesn't exist. I just want to hear him call me mine one more time.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  JONAH

  The first thing I hear when we step back inside the house is laughter drifting from the kitchen.

  “Vitya!” Lev pops his head around the door, a wide grin splitting his face. “Come watch me beat Niko’s ass.”

  “Come on, krasavchik.” Viktor squeezes the back of my neck, steering me into the room.

  On the island sits an open bottle of vodka, two glasses, and a row of daggers lined up like playing cards. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills sit beside them. The sharp bite of alcohol hits first.

  “Oh. You’ve come for the show?” Nikolai doesn’t look up. He flicks a dagger without even glancing at the target. It crosses the room and hits the far wall with a clean thud.

  Lev lifts his glass in a mock salute. “Show-off.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  Nikolai reaches for his glass, draining it in one swallow before nudging another dagger into place with two fingers. “I’m talented.”

  Lev points at the knife. “There’s a difference.”

  Viktor steps beside me. His hand brushes mine. “They’re unbearable when they drink.”

  Nikolai glances over. “There he is. The prodigal son.” His eyes slide to me, narrowing slightly. “And the reason he’s been impossible since he returned.”

  Heat climbs into my face. Lev grins, leaning against the counter. “We were debating whether Jonah knows how to throw yet.”

  Viktor’s gaze flicks to me, slow and assessing. “He doesn't.”

  Nikolai tilts his head toward the knives. “Teach him. If he’s staying.”

  “He is.” Viktor grabs two glasses, pouring vodka like it’s a final answer.

  “So he’s staying.”

  My heart hits hard against my ribs. Staying. The word feels like a heavy weight settling into my stomach. It isn't just about a room or a bed anymore. It’s about the gravity of the man holding me.

  Nikolai whistles. “Then he should throw once.”

  Lev hands me a practice dagger. “Aim anywhere that isn't me.”

  I look at Viktor and he nods. “Go on.” My grip tightens on the cold steel. I throw, but the knife hits the wall handle-first, dropping to the floor with a hollow clang.

  Nikolai claps once. “Better than Viktor’s first throw.”

  “Niko,” Viktor warns, his voice turning low.

  “What? You were barely ten years old and you hit Sergei’s car. You took the paint right off the door while the old man was still screaming in the foyer.”

  Lev laughs. Viktor doesn’t join him. He stoops to pick up the dagger I dropped, his movements unhurried. He weighs it once and then launches it. The blade hits dead center.

  Nikolai snorts. “Show-off.”

  Viktor doesn't look back. He takes another dagger and throws. Bull’s-eye. A third follows with the same result, the handles vibrating in a tight cluster. A fourth and fifth strike the wood, the rhythmic thud filling the kitchen until the air feels crowded with the sound of his precision. He’s not just practicing. He’s showing me exactly what it looks like when he decides where something belongs.

  He stands there for a beat, his chest rising and falling while he stares at the cluster of steel. Finally, he looks at me. His eyes are fixed on mine, a hint of pride hiding behind his gaze.

  “That’s enough for tonight.”

  Lev goes quiet. Nikolai watches Viktor instead of the knives.

  Viktor’s hand finds the back of my neck. “Upstairs.”

  It isn't a command. Still, my feet move before I decide to. Behind us, Lev groans into his glass. “Every. Damn. Time. He wins a round and disappears with his favorite.”

  Nikolai snorts. “We should get the boy a T-shirt. Property of Vitya. See how fast he blushes.”

  My face burns. Lev lifts his glass toward me. “See? Told you.”

  “Enough,” Viktor says. He doesn't even turn around.

  Silence drops instantly. The air in the kitchen goes cold. Lev mutters a quiet, “Have fun.” Nikolai adds, “Don’t break the bed.”

  Viktor ignores them both, his hand tightening at the back of my neck as he guides me out of the room.

  We’re inside Viktor’s room. Our room. Bags are spread open across the floor. Sweats and T-shirts are draped over a chair, and shoes are left where we dropped them along the wall. “Can I try the candles?”

  Viktor huffs. “Be my guest.”

  Unwrapping them carefully, I focus on the labels. “This one’s sandalwood with jasmine. The other is rose petals.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “You’ve got a favorite?”

  He snorts.

  “Yeah. I thought so.” I smile to myself, already knowing mine as I prepare to light the sandalwood. While Viktor undresses, I kill the overhead light and set the candles around the bed. A warm flicker fills the room, shadows moving slowly over the walls. “Can you smell it?”

  “Hm, I can.”

  The next second, his hands are on my shoulders, throwing me back onto the bed. I yelp, more surprised than scared. He’s already on me, tearing my shirt open. Buttons skitter across the floor with a sharp sound. His mouth drops to my chest, his tongue flicking over my nipples. I arch into him, half laughing and half breathless while the candlelight shakes around us.

  “Viktor…”

  “Ty moy,” he grumbles against my skin. His voice is rough with hunger, his nose dragging lower along my belly. I giggle when he tickles me, but the sound breaks when his hand slips into my sweats. My body is a traitor. It’s arching for him, begging for the touch it was afraid of only weeks ago. “Already so hard for me.”

  Wrapping his hand around my dick, he strokes once, before pulling back, leaving me shivering and wanting more. He leans back, lifting his shirt over his head. His pants strain with the outline of his erection. When he pops the button, heat rushes through me. He pushes his pants and underwear down his thighs, freeing his thick and flushed cock.

  “You haven't given me your answer.” His hand slides down his length again.

  “Answer?”

  “I told you what I want. How I like it.” His grip tightens slightly and then eases. “You haven't told me if you agree.”

  My chest tightens. This is the proposition. He’s laying out the terms of his world, and I’m the one deciding if I can live in them.

  “I practiced with the knives because I want you strong. I gave you clothes. A piano.” His gaze stays fixed on my face, unblinking. “Will you give me what I need?”

  His hand moves slow on his dick. It’s a hot view, but that isn't why my breath hitches. He’s asking for me to meet him. My stomach tightens while heat spreads low.

  “Can I go back to work?”

  “With protection. Yes.”

  “Move around?”

  “With protection. Yes.”

  “But…by myself?”

  In one sharp pull, he drags my sweats down, baring me to the candlelight. Grabbing both our dicks, he spits and squeezes them together in one slick fist. “And you, krasavchik,” his thumb presses harder as he speaks. “Will you sleep by my side every night?”

  My breath stutters. “Yes.”

  “And will you be my good lover?”

  His strokes deepen. Spitting again, he spreads the slick over both our crowns. I moan, overwhelmed by him and by the weight of the choice I’m making. My body already knows the answer. Viktor watches my face as he moves, eyes dark, grip firm. He’s drawing it out on purpose, the pressure building slowly. Every movement is controlled. He eases just enough to keep me right there with him, his thumb firm at the base, holding me on the very edge.

  “I’m close.”

  His jaw tightens. “Just looking at you does this to me. And when you sound like that… do it again, krasavchik.”

  I do. He leans in, kissing me hard as his tongue slips between my lips. He tugs my bottom lip and then nips down my chin, my throat, and my Adam’s apple. My back bows. Our cocks slide together, slick with spit and precum.

  “Come on, Jonah. Come for me.”

  Everything blurs. Heat burns out thought. My arm locks around his waist. A shattered sound tears out of me as I come in his palm. Viktor shudders, his body tensing as he comes hard between us. We breathe together, our lips brushing as we cling to each other.

  I’m hollowed out. Shattered. I’ve just agreed to a life I don't understand with a man who could destroy me, and for the first time, I feel grounded.

  “We have a deal.” His mouth lingers at my ear, his breath hot. “That makes you mine.”

  The words land with the heavy finality of a gavel, sealing a deal I can no longer break. I’ve traded the gray safety of my old life for a throne in a house made of blood and sandalwood, and as I sink into the mattress, I realize I’d rather be his good lover in this fortress than a free man anywhere else.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  VIKTOR

  “Where are we?” Jonah asks as the car slows.

  As I unbuckle his seatbelt for him, I meet his eyes. “Vesper. My bar.”

  “You have a bar? I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

  I grin. “It’s not just the bar.”

  He looks at me, curious now.

  “That whole block belongs to me,” I add easily. “Vesper’s just the part people are allowed to see.”

  “Is there anything you don’t have?” he asks.

  “It depends who you ask.” Nudging the back of Nikolai's seat with my boot, I wait for the reaction. “If you ask Nikolai, he’ll tell you he doesn't have a moment of peace. He'll complain about the constant ache in his right arm like it’s a personal betrayal.”

  “Shut up, motherfucker,” Nikolai grumbles from the passenger seat.

  Jonah laughs. The warm flush on his face makes his freckles stand out, golden spots scattered over his nose and cheeks. They are gorgeous. I catch myself counting them. Most men in my position look for flaws, but I’m looking for every inch of sensitive skin I haven't marked yet. They’re just more territory for me to claim.

  “But if you ask me,” I continue, “I’d say I have pretty much everything I could wish for. Except for one final thing. My family’s throne. I intend to take it back very soon.” My hand settles on Jonah’s shoulder while Sasha turns into the private lot behind the building. “We’re going to stay for one drink only.”

  “Sure.”

  Outside, Lev scans the alley as the biting cold rushes in. The bass from the club thumps through the brick. “Remind me why we are here?”

  “To seal a deal.” Straightening my coat, I look at the entrance. “To make some money.” I wink at Jonah.

  “That one-drink policy sounds like a good idea.” Nikolai shakes his head, leading the way for the back entrance. “I still hate being here since the shooting.”

  “For once I agree with you, brother.”

  Keeping my hand on Jonah’s back, I guide him across the cracked floor toward the bar. Lev walks the outside line, close enough that his arm brushes mine. White and red light cut through the dark, strobing across the room. The sound takes over first. Bass pounds through the packed floor, the vibration crawling up my legs and settling in my ribs. Voices blur. Laughter and shouts are swallowed by the music, making it loud enough to hide footsteps. Bodies press close under the strobe.

  Vesper sits in the heart of our zone. Yet Sokolov still made it onto my block. The motherfucker even managed to shoot me. My ribs tighten at the memory—a dull echo under the music that doesn't fit.

  Vadim stands behind the bar. When he sees me, his mouth falls open, nearly dropping the glass he’s polishing. “Viktor Morozov. You… Didn’t you⁠—”

  “Die?” Nikolai deadpans.

  Vadim’s eyes flick from him back to me. Snapping out of it, he reaches for a bottle. “Let me get you some shots. On the house.”

  Lev grins. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  After we down two rounds, I turn my back to the bar and scan the crowd. “Do you see anything that doesn’t fit?”

  Nikolai’s gaze sweeps the room, sharp. “No. Sasha just confirmed the outside cameras are functioning. Nothing is out of order.”

  “Then how the fuck did Sokolov get past our perimeter and make it right outside this place?” Lev’s voice hardens. “This whole neighborhood is ours. He shouldn’t have made it within a block.”

  “I agree. Someone cleared a path for him.”

  Nikolai frowns. “For Sokolov? Why risk that level of betrayal for a disposable trigger?”

  “Someone who wasn’t working for him.” I lower my voice and let the words settle between us.

  Jonah’s grip tightens, ice clinking once against the side of the glass. He doesn’t speak, but his shoulders draw in a fraction as if he understands exactly what that means. Only a handful of people know every guard shift and every blind angle near this place. Only a handful know when I slip out the back door. Fewer still could erase their own footprints without raising suspicion.

  Lev watches my face. “You think it was someone inside.”

  I don’t answer right away.

  Nikolai exhales slowly. “Motherfucker. Look.”

  Turning toward the crowd, I find that before I can even begin my scan, the bodies begin to part.

  “You were always so easy to find, Viktor,” a voice cuts through the thumping bass. “When the house feels too small, you always come back to the cracked floors and the cheap vodka.”

  Something in my head snaps into focus. That unnatural calm that never belongs in chaos. My breath stutters. I know that shape. I know who moves like that. Lev’s hand tightens on my arm. “No. It can’t be.”

  Doctor Andrei Petrov steps into the light like he owns the floor. His coat is buttoned to the chin. His posture is straight. His gaze sweeps the room with the detached calm of a man who has already decided half the people in it are not worth saving.

  “Of fucking course.” Nikolai exhales through his teeth.

  Petrov’s eyes find us at the bar. He smiles politely, as if this is a yearly checkup and not the scene of my almost-death. Adjusting his glasses, he steps around two drunk men without breaking stride. He stops exactly one arm’s length from me.

  “Evening, boys. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  The bass thunders behind him. My pulse answers it. Jonah goes still at my side. Lev’s hand drops to the hem of his jacket. I meet Petrov’s eyes. “You are the last person allowed here.”

  He smiles, looking amused. “Your uncle sent me. But you already knew that.”

  “Oh. Did he now?”

  “You don't think you can walk out of your prison, kill Sergei’s loyal dog and then pretend life continues untouched.” Petrov’s smile widens. “My reputation opens doors. Your uncle wants to see how you intend to close them.”

  “I’m reclaiming what’s mine.” My voice is a low growl. “I am removing those who stole from me.”

  Petrov laughs. “You always were the funny one. No offense.” His gaze slides past me to Jonah, looking him up and down with clinical detachment. “And you kept your pretty nurse. If you need someone to warm your bed tonight, Vitya, there’ll be volunteers. You don't have to settle for the help.”

  Something in my chest snaps. “You motherfucker.” I shove him hard, the impact sending him back a step.

  “Viktor.” Nikolai yanks me back by the shoulder. “Don’t. He isn't worth it.”

  Ignoring my friend, I feel my jaw tighten. I shove Petrov again before anyone can move to stop me. I want to feel his ribs crack under my hands. But then Jonah’s fingers close around mine. They are small.