Chapter 1

Phayu's POV

I wake before dawn. Like always.

The air outside is still heavy with the last grip of night, dew clinging to the stone tiles of the courtyard. The estate is already alive. Our men switching shifts at the gates, patrols rotating, and maids flitting quietly through the hallways like ghosts trained not to disturb. It's efficient. It's controlled. Just how I like it.

I start the day with my usual routine—pull-ups in the gym, a five-kilometer run around the estate, and then sparring in the training ring.

Saifah's already waiting for me there, his sleeves rolled up, cocky as always. My twin in blood, but not in discipline.

"You look like shit," he says by way of greeting.

I crack my neck. " You'll look worse when I'm done."

The sparring's fast and brutal, just the way we like it. Punches traded with bone-jarring force, sweat flying, no words needed. It clears my head better than any therapy session ever could. When I finally knock him on his ass with a roundhouse kick, Saifah just grins and gives me a lazy salute from the ground.

" Fuckin' love family bonding."

I leave him there, breathless and laughing, and make my way back inside.

The moment I step into the house, I hear it.

Laughter.

Light, bubbling, and bright. My daughter's. Followed closely by a softer, more melodic sound—Rain.

I pause for a second, letting it wash over me. The chaos of this world—deals, factions, power plays—it all fades when I hear them.

Rain's voice comes from the breakfast room, low and teasing.

"Kaia, no, you cannot wear the pink boots with your uniform. That's for Saturday. Today is Wednesday, baby. You're supposed to look like a serious student."

"I am serious," Kaia protests. " Pink is serious Papa"

I step into the doorway just in time to see Rain kneeling beside her, fixing her collar with deft, practiced fingers. His long white shirt is too big on him, the sleeves rolled back just enough to show his slender wrists. His hair is tucked behind his ears. Looking as ethereal as ever even after wrangling a 5-year-old before his first cup of coffee

We have six maids. A nanny. A driver. An entire fleet of trained household staff.

And yet every single school day, Rain wakes Kaia himself. Dresses her. Braids her hair if she wants. Packs her lunch and tells her not to trade her rice crackers for cookies.

I've told him a hundred times he doesn't need to.

He always looks at me like I'm missing the point.

Kaia spots me first and beams, jumping up from the chair and racing toward me.

"Dada!"

I catch her mid-run, lifting her up with one arm and kissing her cheek. She smells like baby shampoo and Rain's perfume. She presses a sticky kiss to my jaw and then looks at me sternly.

"You're sweaty."

I arch a brow. "So are your pink boots."

She gasps, scandalized, and I carry her back to the table while Rain straightens up.

His eyes meet mine over Kaia's head. Tired, maybe, but bright.

"Good workout?" he asks.

"Decent," I say, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Still undefeated."

He hums . "Of course you are."

I want to keep him in my arms for a while, pull him into my chest and let the rest of the world disappear. But Kaia squirms in protest.

"Papa gets a kiss, I want a kiss too!"

Rain smiles, slow and amused, and I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her nose and cheeks then her lips and she giggles.

" You ready for school?"

"No. I want to go to work with you."

Rain tuts. "You have your recital this afternoon. Phi, tell her she's not joining any negotiations until she can spell negotiation."

Kaia crosses her arms. " I can spell danger."

I grin. That's my girl.

And Rain? He's already rolling his eyes, but there's love in every glance he throws our way.

This life we've built—violent, chaotic, dangerous—it only works because of mornings like this. Because Rain still insists on combing our daughter's hair with his own hands, even when he's capable of orchestrating assassinations without stepping foot outside the house.

Because I wake up every day and know exactly what I need to protect.

And I'll burn the world to keep it.

I set Kaia back into her seat with one arm, brushing a crumb off her cheek with my thumb before ruffling her hair. "Finish your breakfast, tiger. No crimes before carbs."

She giggles like it's the funniest thing in the world, even as she goes back to nibbling at her pancakes and fruit. Rain moves to pour her milk, graceful in that oversized white shirt of his, still half-buttoned and practically slipping off one shoulder.

I head to the fridge, cracking it open, and pull out the cold-water bottle. I unscrew the cap, tilt it to my lips...and freeze when I hear them.

Whispers.

Rain's voice, soft, coaxing. "If you don't go to school, princess, how are you going to see Rocky?"

My brows pull together. Rocky?

Kaia's reply is just as hushed, like she's telling him about a crime they conspired on. "Rocky's singing with me, Papa."

And Rain hums, affectionate, indulgent. "I know, baby. So you have to go, okay?"

I close the fridge door slowly and turn to them. I don't say anything at first. Just stare at the two conspirators sitting side by side like sugar wouldn't melt in their mouths. Rain notices first.

I speak calmly. Dangerous."Who is Rocky," I say , "and why are you two whispering about him like I'm not in this room?"

Kaia blinks up at me, guileless. Then perks up like she's proud."My boyfriend, Dada."

Your what?

I feel like I got shot in the chest at point blank.

Rain reaches for her cup, not even looking at me . "Shh, Kaia."

Kaia puts her finger to her lips. " Oops. It's a secret, Dada."

Oh, hell no.

I drop the bottle back on the counter a little harder than necessary and step forward, eyes pinned on my husband.

"Start talking," I say. "And start talking fast. "

Rain sighs and leans back in his chair like this is just another Wednesday. "He's five, Phi."

"I don't give a shit if he's five or fifty ," I snap, voice rising as I stare them both down like I'm conducting an interrogation. " Why am I hearing about this now? Why is his name Rocky? What the fuck kind of name is that? Is he the one that gave her that glitter pen she keeps hiding in her bag?"

Kaia gasps, hands flying up to her cheeks. " Bad word! Dada said a bad word! "

I grit my teeth. Rain doesn't even flinch, just rubs his temples like he's the one under stress.

"Stop cursing, Phi," he rolls his eyes at me. "Yes. And he also gave her a friendship bracelet. They're singing together at her recital, not eloping."

"Eloping is still on the goddamn table apparently !" I hiss.

" Phi! " Rain glares now, half-scandalized, half-exasperated. " What did I just say about the cursing?"

I exhale like a dragon trying not to incinerate the whole room. "You said stop. I'm trying."

Kaia, meanwhile, has found a juice box and is sipping it calmly like she didn't just throw a grenade into my peaceful morning. She swings her legs under the table and smiles up at me like she didn't just call a boy her boyfriend in front of me, her very armed and deeply unstable father.

"She said boyfriend."

"She also said she wanted to marry P'Pai last week because he gave her strawberry cake. You're the one who told her she could have anything she wanted if she worked hard enough."

Kaia nods solemnly like this is a motivational TED Talk. "And Rocky said I sing good."

I'm already planning this Rocky kid's relocation to a distant continent.

Rain looks up at me with an expression that's somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "You can't kill a child, Phi."

"Watch me."

I glance down at Kaia. " Does he hold your hand?"

She giggles. "Sometimes."

Rain cuts in quickly, voice light but firm. "That's enough interrogation. You're going to give her a complex."

I run a hand down my face and groan. "A boyfriend, Rain. You're supposed to be the strict one."

"I am the strict one. I just pick my battles. And this one is five years old and sings Disney songs. You're spiraling."

Kaia perks up from her chair and says seriously. "Don't worry, Dada. You're still my real boyfriend."

I blink. I might cry.

Rain, traitor that he is, just smiles like this whole thing is adorable.

I glare at him. "You let this happen."

He shrugs, kissing Kaia's forehead. "I also taught her how to hide knives in her boots. Balance."

I am going to age twenty years before this girl turns ten.

Rain catches my eye across the table. He tilts his head slightly, lips twitching with a smirk he's not bothering to hide.

"She's five, Phi. It's puppy love."

"Yeah, and I'm about to put that puppy in a cage."

"Phi." Rain's voice sharpens.

Kaia pops the straw from her juice box. "Does Rocky know you used to build prisons, Dada?"

Rain chokes on a laugh. I do not.

But now I'm seriously considering renovating one.

"New rule," I mutter, pointing between them. "You two don't get to have secret boyfriend conversations without me."

Rain hums, soft and innocent. " Fine. But next time you get to explain to her why she's not allowed to marry someone who gives her glitter pens."

Kaia perks up again, beaming. "Can I still marry Uncle Pai if he gives me strawberry cake?"

Rain presses a hand to his face. I'm already reaching for my phone.

" I'm calling Pai. He needs to stop bringing desserts into this house."

...

I'm still spiraling—mentally running through the names of every five-year-old boy in her class, planning a full background check, maybe even tailing him and his parents for a few days when Rain calmly sets his coffee cup down and asks, like this is just a casual Wednesday morning and not the collapse of my household sanity,

"What time's your meeting?"

I blink, still stuck on Rocky the Boyfriend.

Rain raises a brow. "The faction head. You said it was this afternoon."

I nod slowly. "12pm. But I'll be done before lunch."

Rain hums again. "So you'll be in time for Kaia's recital?"

Normally, we take turns. Sometimes I go, most times he goes. Occasionally, we show up together and sit in the back like normal, non-lethal parents trying not to scare the teachers.

But now—now that there's a boy singing with my daughter?

Now that Rocky exists as a real, whisper-worthy entity in my house?

I'm absolutely going.

I must look like I'm planning how to smuggle a sniper rifle into the auditorium because Rain exhales a little sigh, moves around the table, and slips one elegant arm around my waist. His fingers tap gently against my back as he leans into me, soft and deliberate.

"Get murder out of your head, Phi " he says, rising up on his toes to kiss the edge of my mouth. "They're five."

"They're sneaky," I mutter, refusing to lean into the kiss even though my body already wants to.

Rain laughs, his breath warm against my jaw. "You should've seen your face. You looked like you got shot and couldn't figure out which organ got hit."

"I did get hit," I grumble. "Right in the heart. My daughter betrayed me with a boy named Rocky."

Rain tucks his head into my neck, hiding his smirk. " You're so dramatic. You married me."

I huff. " At least you didn't call anyone else your boyfriend."

Rain pulls back just enough to tilt his head and give me that look. The one that's equal parts challenge and affection.

"I still call you that," he says softly. "My only one."

That shuts me up.

Kaia kicks her legs happily at the table and announces, "I'm going to sing louder than Rocky today so everyone knows I'm the boss."

Rain and I both look at her.

I blink. " You are definitely mine."

Rain sighs, but he's smiling. " You two are going to give that boy a complex."

"Good," I mutter, pulling him closer by the waist, finally letting myself kiss his forehead. "Complexes build character."

...

"Up you go," I say, lifting her into the car seat. She settles in with a grin, already humming the opening notes to whatever duet she and Rocky are performing today.

I fasten the seatbelt, double-check the latch, then brush a few stray strands of her curls from her forehead.

"I love you," I murmur, leaning in close , "have a good day at school, Tiger."

She beams. "I Love you too, Dada."

Then I narrow my eyes at her, voice dropping an octave."And no holding hands with Rocky."

Kaia immediately tries to look innocent. " What if it's part of the song?"

"It's not," I deadpan. " Tell him to use his voice."

Rain's laughter filters in from the driver's side, where he's already inside, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the mirror. He glances back at me with that pretty, amused smirk that always manages to punch holes through my fury.

"She's five, Phi," he reminds me again, smug.

"She's mine," I mutter. "Which means I have standards."

Rain hums, leaning a little closer. "You're going to be a menace at the recital, aren't you?"

  "I'm going to smile politely," I say, "and then find out where Rocky lives."

Rain shakes his head, " We're raising her to be independent, not a mafia princess."

I fold my arms. "Too late."

Kaia pipes up from the back seat. " Princess Boss Kaia, Papa!"

Rain groans.

I grin.

Rain's POV

Phi walks around to my side of the car with that calm, heavy-footed stride of his, still in his black-on-black workout gear, hair tied up in that neat bun he only lets fall for me. He leans in and kisses me again—slow, warm, lingering.

" Drive safe, baby," he murmurs against my mouth. "I'll be gone by the time you get back home."

I pout instantly, sticking my bottom lip out on reflex. He grins, the bastard.

"You can always come by the office if you need me," he adds with that usual suggestion laced in casual temptation. Like showing up at his office in head-to-toe white for a mid-day fuck isn't something I've actually done. A lot.

I roll my eyes . "I'm helping Sky today at the bakery."

Phi hums, like this personally offends him. "Pai's a cheapskate. Should've hired Sky more staff. Or at least paid him enough to not work."

I snort, glancing at him sideways. "Not everyone can be unemployed, spoilt, and fabulous like me."

That earns me another kiss on the cheek this time.

Then he closes my door gently, and steps back, waving at us as we pull out of the driveway. Behind us, one of our security SUVs follows at a respectable distance, our ever-present tail of armed reassurance.

I glance in the rearview, then at Kaia through the mirror. She's already halfway through her recital playlist, singing her tiny lungs out in the back seat, hands doing little dramatic motions that don't match the beat.

I belt along with her—off-key, too loud, deliberately extra. She screams-laughs and tells me I'm ruining the harmony.

"I am the harmony!" I shout, and she throws her hands up like I'm hopeless.

I love my life.

It's ridiculous. It's bloody. It's extravagant.

And it's perfect.

Because I've got my little girl in the back seat, singing her heart out without a care in the world. I've got a husband who kisses me like the world might end. And I've got sugar and flour in my future because Sky bakes like he's avenging his ancestors and needs a second pair of hands.

I pull into Kaia's school parking lot and put the car in park. The guards at the gate give me a nod—familiar faces, and none of them try to pat me down anymore. I get out, smooth the front of my shirt, and walk around to Kaia's side.

She grins as I open the door, lifting her arms up without saying a word.

"I can walk," she insists, and I smile. " I know you can. But I'm walking you, anyway."

I unbuckle her carefully, sling her tiny pink backpack over my shoulder, and lace my fingers with hers as we walk toward the gates.

She's still humming. I'm still smiling.

And somewhere out there, Rocky's five-year-old ass has no idea his life depends entirely on how well he behaves today.

Phayu's POV

By the time I reach the office, my head's finally clear. Or, at least, clear enough to not still be contemplating a hit on a five-year-old named Rocky.

The downtown building's already pulsing with activity—our front-facing company busy with meetings, contracts, investments, and perfectly legal architectural developments. The real operations hum beneath that—hidden floors, encrypted systems, the quiet, lethal machinery of my family's business.

I walk through the executive entrance, and Isha is already waiting. Efficient, poised, tablet in hand and espresso balanced perfectly in the other. She falls into step beside me without being asked.

"Morning boss," she says crisply, flicking open my schedule. " You've got a status update from legal on the land dispute in Pattaya—something about a forged boundary document. Also, we need your signature on the revised contracts for the Nakarin site, and Khun Pai's finance firm flagged a suspicious wire transfer from one of our accounts, he sent over a note about it. "

"Mm ," I grunt, opening the office door and stepping inside.

"Also," she adds as she trails behind me, "faction heads from sector 7 are scheduled for twelve. Security has already vetted the meeting room. Win is stationed with the rest of your men on standby."

I give her a small nod, already sliding off my blazer and taking my seat behind the desk.

The leather chair creaks quietly as I settle into it. For a second, I let myself just sit there—hands steepled, eyes closed—soaking in the silence before I have to deal with grown men trying to power-play me with half the spine my daughter has.

Then my phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen.

Pai.

I sigh and answer . "What."

"Good morning to you too," he says dryly. I can already hear him typing, probably from his skyscraper penthouse with an espresso in hand and a floor-to-ceiling view of Bangkok.

"What now?" I ask.

"You do know Kaia told Sky she's getting married today after her recital, right?"

I pause. Close my eyes again. Inhale. Exhale. "To Rocky?"

"Yup."

"Who the fuck is this boy?"

"Five. Good hair. Parents with horrible taste in names." Pai chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. "Sky had to swear on a batch of chocolate soufflé that she's too young to legally marry anyone before the age of twenty."

"She's grounded," I mutter.

"Rain said she's not."

Of course he did.

I hear Pai sipping something smug. " Oh, and by the way—Isha just sent me that flagged wire report. It's legit. Looks like Sector 7's skimming again."

I open my eyes, sharp now. " Then they're bringing that to the table this afternoon?"

"Better they walk into your office than have Win escort them, yeah?"

I grunt. "Send me the file."

"Already in your inbox ." Then Pai adds with a smirk in his voice, " Say hi to Rain for me. And to Rocky, your new son-in-law."

I hang up.

Fucking hell.

Isha slips back in a second later with the updated reports. I'm already dialing Win.

If Sector 7 thinks today's going to be a normal meeting, they've clearly never seen me pissed off and freshly traumatized by kindergarten romance.

...

It's 11am by the time I finally breathe again. My office is a fortress of quiet control—shades drawn halfway, the low hum of AC, and the soft click of Isha's heels fading down the hall after dropping off the next stack of contracts. I'm deep in property documents, already cross-referencing with land registry data when my phone buzzes.

Incoming video call: Wifey.

I swipe to answer and the screen fills with him.

Golden light spills over Rain's shoulder like he lives in a damn magazine shoot. His white shirt open at the collar, hair tucked behind his ears, cheeks faintly flushed like he's just stepped out of an oven or done something reckless, which with him could be the same thing. His lip-gloss is subtle but gleaming. I blink once, slowly.

"You're glowing," I murmur. "What did Sky feed you, pixie dust?"

Rain grins . "Banana bread and compliments."

I hum, leaning back in my chair, already about to say Come to my office. I'll have you on this desk in five.

But before I can even crook a finger, he raises a hand, palm-out.

"Don't. Whatever you're about to say, keep it in your black- pants, Phi. I'm in public."

I groan, dramatic. " Who gave you a sense of restraint?"

He just laughs and shifts the camera down. " Anyway, look. Matching outfits. Designer sent them this morning. For me and Kaia."

He holds up two perfectly coordinated sets—soft cream linen with gold accents, one tiny, one perfectly tailored.

I blink. "You're going full royal brunch aesthetic. "

Rain smirks. " If you'd stop dressing like an assassin 24/7, you could match with us."

"I am an assassin 24/7."

"You're also Kaia's father," he sing-songs. " The one who refuses to wear beige."

I glance down at my shirt—black button-down, rolled sleeves, chest ink peeking through and shrug. " It hides the blood."

Rain sighs like I'm hopeless, but he's still smiling. Then his tone shifts, soft but purposeful. "The meeting with Sector 7—how's it looking?"

"Three delegates. They're here in an hour. Win's already briefed the sweep team. We've got full audio logs running in the mirror room and a second feed to your backup server."

Rain nods. "Weapons check?"

"Win handled it."

"Of course he did." Rain's eyes soften " Check in after, okay?"

I nod. This is our system. Always has been. No detail too small. No move without the other knowing.

"Baby," I murmur, watching him bite into something glazed on a skewer like the brat he is. "You sure you don't want to come in for a bit? I'll lock the door."

He grins, sticky-lipped. " I am coming in. With Kaia. After school. We're doing a cake drop for Win."

"...Cake?"

"He's her favorite uncle this week. She said she's thanking him for not being scary to  Rocky on monday."

I blink. "...Should I be concerned?"

Rain shrugs, unconcerned. "Just be grateful it's cake and not poison."

I grin, low and dangerous. " You are a menace."

Rain leans closer to the screen, voice softer now. "And I'm all yours. "

The line goes dead with a wink.

And just like that, I'm back in kill-mode with a faint smile on my lips.

Not long after Rain ends the call, there's a soft knock on my office door—two short raps, sharp and exact.

Win steps in without waiting for an answer. Dressed in all black like me, though a little less tailored and a little more ready to start a fire, he walks across the room with that relaxed confidence that means he's already got everything under control. He stops just short of the desk and nods once.

"Shipment landed," he says. "Hit the docks twenty minutes ago. Everything looks clean. No signs of tampering from customs or our men on site. But you'll want to see it for yourself."

I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping the edge of the table.

This isn't just any shipment—it's one of our specialty loads, rare grade weapons fitted with suppressors and tech mods we sourced off-books from a European contact. Too valuable to trust anyone else. Too dangerous to leave unchecked.

"Good," I say, standing . "We'll do the meeting there."

Win quirks a brow. "At the docks?"

I nod once, already pulling out my phone. " Call the Sector 7 boss. Tell him to redirect his delegates to Warehouse 9. If they want this meeting, they can take it where I work."

"Yes, Boss."

As Win heads out to handle it, I open Rain's chat, thumb moving quick across the screen:

Change of plans. Shipment came in early. Moving meeting to dockside warehouse. I'll do inspection + sit down with Sector 7 there. Text if Kaia finishes early. I'll come to you.

I wait a beat, and then add:

Also tell her Uncle Win says no holding hands with Rocky.

My lips twitch.

If I'm going to juggle weapon inspections, faction negotiations, and preschool romance scandals in one day, the least I can do is make my brat husband laugh.

Rain's POV

The bakery smells like butter, brown sugar, and something caramelizing in the back oven. Sky's already halfway through icing a three-tier cake, brows furrowed like he's in surgery, not sculpting frosting roses. I'm perched on the prep counter beside him, swinging my legs and sipping from a tall iced latte he made " as an apology for being dramatic about your daughter's fake wedding."

"She said they're only singing," Sky mutters.

" She also said he gave her a friendship bracelet. " I raise a brow, lazily stirring my drink. "That's mafia code for betrothal at five."

Sky sighs and flicks a bit of frosting onto the side of the bowl. "I told Pai this morning—if this is what our goddaughter's like now, I'm scared for what she'll be like at thirteen."

"By thirteen, she'll probably be married with a title deed in her name." I take another long sip. " And Phi will be in prison for dismembering a teenager."

Sky snorts. "Honestly, I'd visit him."

We lapse into comfortable silence as he finishes piping, and I check my phone out of habit. Right on cue, a new message from Phi lights up the screen.

Change of plans. Shipment came in early. Moving meeting to dockside warehouse. I'll do inspection + sit down with Sector 7 there.

I hum, tapping a quick reply.

Got it. Kaia's still mid-class. Will text if we finish early. Don't die before dinner.

And then

Also tell her Uncle Win says no holding hands with Rocky.

Sky glances over my shoulder and laughs. " That poor boy. He doesn't even know his fate's being decided by a mafia group chat."

"Honestly, I'm the kind one," I say, setting the phone down . "Phi wanted to track his home address and plant surveillance."

Sky blinks. " He didn't already?"

I roll my eyes, pretending to be scandalized. " You think I'd let him do that without me?"

We both laugh, and then Sky starts boxing pastries with practiced ease while I slide off the counter to help.

"So..." he glances over. " You gonna drop by the office later?"

"Depends on how long Kaia's recital meeting takes," I shrug. "If she's tired, we go straight home. If she's still in glitter-goblin mode, we'll drop cake off for Win."

Sky closes a pastry box, tying it with a pale pink ribbon. "You really built a life where school recitals and arms deals happen on the same day."

I smile, watching the swirl of sugar dust settle in the air.

"Yeah," I say. " And it's perfect."

Phayu's POV

We decide to handle the meeting first. Clear the trash before I assess the shipment. I've never liked mixing delicate product with delicate politics. Too much noise.

I nod once to Win. "Sit on the shipment. Full check, but don't open anything till I get there."

He understands without needing clarification. "Got it. You want backup in the meeting?"

I shake my head. "Just two men outside the door. I'm not that bored."

Win raises a brow but doesn't argue. He knows I can take care of myself. They all do.

We clear one of the discreet warehouse offices—nothing flashy, nothing soft. Just steel walls, a long table, and chairs one of them already occupied by me when Sector 7's delegates swagger in like they own the fucking port.

Three of them. One twitchy, eyes darting, fingers flexing like he's waiting for a reason to start something. Probably high. Definitely stupid. If he worked for me, he'd have been dead before he made it to his second briefing.

The others—older, pretending at composure, trying to appear calm while flexing too many rings and too little discipline—trail behind. And of course, because they want to impress someone, they bring six guards with them. Six. For a meeting with me.

I don't even blink. I just smirk from where I'm sitting, legs crossed, arms resting on the chair's edges like a man with time.

They don't greet me right away. One of them half-nods. Another says, "Boss."

Their tone's wrong. Like they think they're close to the same level.

News flash: they're not.

They all know their sector leader still reports to me , but they love pretending they've carved out some kind of autonomy. I let them pretend, up to a point.

Today's not that day.

"I've been hearing things," I say, voice calm, quiet. That kind of quiet that makes trained men shift in their seats. " Territory lines blurring. Product being moved where it shouldn't. Movement near Sector 4's markets. Interference with our southern allies."

One of them scoffs, leaning forward. "We've expanded. Just a bit of overlap. We're all working under the same flag, aren't we?"

I smile slowly. " Not if you're planting weed and calling it a tree."

They try to laugh it off. Try to circle around it with excuses, blaming freelance runners, unsanctioned cells, mistakes .

Normally, I'd indulge them. Maybe string it out, let them sweat. But today—today I have a weapons shipment sitting fifty feet from here, and a five-year-old waiting to sing "A Whole New World" with a boy named Rocky.

I'm not in the mood.

"You think you have room to negotiate," I say, rising to my feet. " You don't."

That shuts them up.

"I run this like a corporation. Clean. Controlled. I expect discipline from my people. Loyalty. Brains. Not twitchy drug addicts and mid-tier street clowns." I glance at the jittery one, who's now fidgeting with something in his pocket. I snap my fingers once.

One of my guards moves, swift and silent, and relieves him of a hidden blade. I don't react. Just walk to the table, place my hands flat against the steel surface, and look each one of them in the eye.

" You don't get to move weight you didn't declare. You don't get to encroach on zones you didn't earn. And you don't bring extra muscle to my meetings unless you're here to start a war."

No one speaks. They just squirm.

I straighten, pulling out my phone. Open the chat with Rain. Type fast.

Meeting almost done. Shipment next. Might make recital if these idiots don't keep talking.

I pocket the phone and look back at them. "This is me being polite. You want to see what it looks like when I'm not?"

I look up, gaze steady on the delegate still staring at me. His mouth twitches like he wants to speak, like some half-thought threat is choking in his throat. I tilt my head, giving him the space to dig his own grave.

He doesn't take it.

"Glad we understand each other, " I say, voice like steel scraped over velvet.

I don't bother watching them leave. My attention's already shifting to the ship, where my shipment waits—crates packed and sealed, scanners ready, dock crew under strict order. The product's sensitive enough that I'm doing this myself.

And maybe, if the universe shows me a sliver of mercy, I'll still make it in time for my daughter's recital. Sit in my tailored black, clapping for my little tiger and shooting looks sharp enough to scar at some poor five-year-old named Rocky.

But the universe, as usual, has no intention of playing nice.

I hear it. The telltale scrape of metal. The clicks. The shift of air that always comes before everything goes sideways.

Weapons being drawn.

Fuck.

I sigh, close my eyes for half a second. I was really hoping not to do this today.

When I turn around, slow and measured, all nine of them—three delegates, six guards—are pointing guns.

At me.

Two of my men burst through the door behind me, guns already drawn. I can feel the tension crackle in the air. We're outnumbered. They know it. I know it.

But if they wanted to kill me, I'd be bleeding by now.

So this? This is something else.

I tut, slow and sharp, like I'm scolding children. Shake my head once, disappointment rolling off me in waves.

"You bring guns," I say, voice low. "Into my meeting."

No one speaks.

I look at the twitchy one. "You're already high. You think your hands won't shake when you try to pull that trigger?"

He swallows thickly. Doesn't move.

I look at their lead. "So what is it? You want something? Territory? Leverage? Or you just thought it'd be cute to play mutiny today of all days?"

Still no answer.

Behind me, I feel my men shift, silent signals I've trained them to follow. We're not shooting unless I say so. But I can tell: they want to.

I smile, slow and dangerous.

"I've already wasted time on this meeting. You don't want to see what happens if you waste another second of my day."

They want something.

Fine.

Let's find out what they're willing to lose for it.

One of the older ones—balding slightly at the temples, trying too hard to look composed—finally speaks.

"We heard about the weapons ," he says, voice flat but trembling around the edges. "The shipment you got delivered. We want it."

I laugh.

Not a smile. Not a smirk.

A full, low chuckle that echoes in the warehouse office like a promise.

"You three idiots came up with this on your own ," I say, "or did your boss put you up to it?"

That's when I see it—the twitch. Barely a flicker in their eyes, like a flinch they're trying to hide. Not fear. Guilt. Hesitation.

So. Their boss didn't know. That tracks.

This is what happens when you're a weak leader. When you run your sector like a playground and let your dogs off the leash. No discipline. No fear. Just inflated egos and empty heads.

I walk calmly back to my seat, sit down, and pinch the bridge of my nose like I'm trying to ward off a headache.

"Let me get this straight ," I say, voice heavy with mock patience. " You come into my meeting, try to spin circles around your own incompetence, then pull guns on me in broad daylight... to steal from me?" I glance up, eyes hard. "What? To impress your boss? Or overthrow him?"

Their eyes flick sideways.

Ah. There it is.

Oh, they're not just idiots. They're ambitious idiots.

I shake my head slowly.

" You're hoping to steal from me," I say, dragging out every word , "and kill me. And then overthrow your boss. Use my weapons to move up the chain."

I chuckle again, more to myself this time, and glance over at my men—still calm, still steady, weapons in hand but unmoving, waiting for my word like trained hounds.

" You see," I tell them , "this is why I don't employ idiots."

That gets them bristling. One of them, younger and full of false bravado, sneers at me.

"Shut the fuck up ," he snaps. " Tell us which crates have the weapons."

I sigh, long and slow. Like I'm tired. Like they're already boring me.

"Okay," I say. "Walk me through this very elaborate plan of yours."

I lean back in my chair, legs crossed at the ankle, like I'm about to hear a bedtime story.

"You came here with nine men, with shaky intel, no exit strategy, and you thought—what? I'd hand over the crates and clap for your initiative? " I tilt my head. "And then what? You drive off with my shipment, kill your boss, and hope the rest of his faction just follows you?"

They don't answer. They don't even move. I think they're starting to realize what I already knew when I sat down: they were never getting out of this alive.

I smile, slow and sharp.

"See, if you're going to commit suicide, at least make it interesting."

...

The first shot cracks through the warehouse like lightning. Then another. And another.

By the time the echo fades, both of my men are on the floor—one with a bullet in the chest, the other a neck shot. But not before they take five of the bastards with them.

I don't move. Don't flinch.

They don't shoot me. They won't.

They can't.

I run the largest outfit in the country. You don't just kill me and expect everyone else to fall in line. No one with half a brain would respect a coup pulled off by mutts who can't even hold a formation.

I glance at my men. Blood spreading, still. Eyes open.

I don't know their names. Not personally. But I know they have families. I'll compensate them. Generously.

Now we're down to four.

Two delegates. Two security goons. All four of them with their guns trained on me like it makes a difference.

I stay seated. Calm. Waiting.

Then I smile, just a little.

"You know what's going to make all this worse?" I say, voice quiet. "It's not that you pulled this little stunt in my territory, or even that you killed my men."

I lift my gaze, cold and steady.

"It's that I won't get to enjoy your deaths."

That gets under their skin. I see it. The twitch of a jaw, the flicker in the eyes.

Then they move.

One  of them rush forward—snatches at my collar, and presses a gun to my temple.

And that— that —ticks me off.

No one touches me like that.

No one.

Except Rain. Except Kaia.

The moment the fool jerks my arm, I twist. Fast. Brutal. A knee to his gut, a pivot on my heel, and I wrench the gun from his hand with a crack of bone and shift behind him in one motion.

Now I've got him.

One arm locked tight around his neck, the muzzle of his own weapon jammed against his skull.

His legs are shaking already.

The others freeze, guns still up, fingers twitching.

I keep my voice low, almost a whisper in his ear.

"You willing to bet your life," I murmur, "that they like you enough to drop their guns?"

He gasps.

"That they'll take a bullet for you? That they'll beg me to spare you?"

He starts to shiver in my arms.

"Or..." I tighten my grip slightly, " do you think they'll let me put a bullet through your skull and thank me for saving them the trouble later?"

His eyes are wide now, darting to the others.

" Drop your guns! " he yells, panicked. " Please—please drop your guns—he'll kill me— "

They don't move.

Of course they don't.

Because they're greedy, pathetic, traitorous little bastards. No loyalty. No brotherhood.

Only ambition.

And they were never going to make it out alive.