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"Still tracking him, but he's moving fast," Dimitri said. "Looks like he's gearing up for something big—recruiting new blood, meeting with smaller gang leaders."

War. That's what this meant. Marco was planning a goddamn war.

"Tighten security around the estate," I ordered, my tone hard. "And keep hunting Marco. He touched what's mine. He's gonna pay."

"Yes, Boss." Dimitri hesitated, then added, "One more thing. We caught wind of Ginnie Robert cozying up to Marco's crew."

Ginnie. My eyes narrowed, a spark of rage flaring. That greedy bitch, betraying me to my enemy.

"Watch her," I said coldly. "If she's working with Marco, she's a traitor. You know what we do with traitors."

After dealing with that infuriating news, exhaustion hit me—not physical, but a bone-deep weariness. I was sick of the endless fights, the constant vigilance, the life that forced me to stay on edge. But for Cassie and Anya, I had to be stronger. Colder.

I got back to the estate at eight in the morning after a brutal night.

"Sir, Cassie's practicing in the greenhouse," Aisor said, taking my coat. "Anya's in her room with her picture books."

I nodded and headed for the greenhouse, drawn by the faint sound of a violin. The melody floated through the air, soft and haunting, easing the tension in my chest before I even saw her.

I pushed open the door and stopped. Cassie stood among the roses, sunlight streaming through the glass dome, bathing her in a golden glow. She played with such focus, so lost in the music, she looked like a goddamn goddess.

All my anger, my exhaustion, my darkness—it melted away.

She didn't notice me, too wrapped up in her playing. I slipped into a chair, closing my eyes to let her music wash over me. She was playing Debussy's Clair de Lune, the notes soft as feathers, soothing my frayed nerves. My shoulders loosened, my clenched fists relaxed, and the dark thoughts of revenge and war faded under her spell.

It took me back to when I was a kid, waking from nightmares to my mother's lullabies. That sense of safety, of being wrapped in warmth—I thought I'd lost it forever. But Cassie's music brought it back, pulling me out of my grim world and reminding me of the part of me that still craved light, love, peace.

Her notes danced in the air, my breathing slowed, and for the first time in years, I felt truly at ease. How long had it been since I'd let go like this? Since my mother died, I'd forgotten what calm felt like. But Cassie, my rose, built a gentle wall with her music, keeping the danger and darkness at bay.

In that rose-scented greenhouse, surrounded by sunlight and her melody, my mind softened, my eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I'd had in years.

When I woke, the greenhouse was quiet. A soft blanket was draped over me, and a glass of water sat on the table beside me. The care in those small gestures warmed me from the inside out.

I lifted the blanket, catching a faint whiff of Cassie's perfume—jasmine and lemon, light and fresh. This woman. Always finding ways to get under my skin.

I stood, heading inside to find her and Anya, when I heard laughter from the kitchen… and what sounded like an explosion?

Pushing open the door, I froze. Cassie and Anya were covered head-to-toe in flour, looking like a pair of snowmen. Flour dusted their hair, their faces, even Anya's eyelashes. The counter was a war zone of baking tools and something that might've been a cake in a past life.

Old Henry, the chef, and two maids stood in the corner, also dusted with flour, their faces a mix of resignation and amusement. They'd clearly been steamrolled by these two troublemakers.

"Mr. Sokolov!" Henry said, snapping to attention, relief in his voice.

The maids bowed, flustered. "Sir, we… we tried to stop them, but…"

"Gennady!" Cassie spun around, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You're awake! Check out the surprise cake we made for you!"

Before I could react, she grabbed a handful of frosting and lobbed it at me. Splat. The cold cream hit my face, sliding down my cheek.

The kitchen went dead silent.

Henry and the maids shrank back, eyes wide. They knew who I was—Gennady Sokolov, the man people disappeared for crossing. A stunt like this could end badly for anyone else.

But Cassie and Anya didn't care. They burst out laughing, clutching their sides.

"Anya, look! Daddy's a snowman!" Cassie gasped, doubled over.

"His beard's got frosting!" Anya squealed, clapping her hands like a delighted bird.