His hand slides around my waist. He kisses my cheek before we enter the building. His fingers rest on my thigh under the table when we sit.
Every gesture is possessive.
Every one steadies him.
He uses me, and I like it.
Also, I realize I’m seeing him the way his world sees him: not just mad, but powerful. Strategic. A force.
The weapons negotiations go flawlessly. Gustav’s voice is firm. His logic ruthless. He turns opponents into allies with a mix ofintimidation and charm. Men laugh at his jokes. They toast to him. They clap his back.
I watch, stunned, as he transforms into a true mob boss.
He trades two of his remaining Yellow Card lives to the Morozovs in exchange for weapons and a ceasefire. Not mercy, but leverage.
It’s a brutal price, but it’s brilliant. The feud ends instantly. So does any investigation into Gustav killing a rival boss.
Even the Council can’t dispute it. Using his lives as currency in a binding deal with a rival faction isn’t recklessness. It’s proof he understands power.
All the while, he makes sure my hand never leaves his body. He likes my palm on his leg. If I move it, he expects it to return once idle, or he’ll return it for me.
When the final handshake is given, they celebrate the way they always seem to: vodka, laughter, noise. The banquet hall glows with chandeliers and gold trim. Music plays. Glasses clink. Men argue about politics like they’re discussing weather. Women in expensive dresses mingle near marble pillars.
Gustav leaves my side to speak with someone.
My attention drifts. I’m still glowing. Still floating.
And then I see her.
A woman across the room. Blonde hair in soft Hollywood curls. Skin-tight gold dress clinging to curves like she was poured into it. She is… stunning. Intimidatingly gorgeous. Effortless.
And she is watching Gustav.
Heat prickles under my skin.
Keira quietly steps beside me, wineglass in hand. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
We both watch.
The blonde glides through the crowd. A silk cat in stilettos. She touches Gustav’s hand lightly, as if to say hello. He doesn’t react— at first. She says something that makes him chuckle. Other men gather, blocking my view. I scowl and try to angle around.
Keira’s fingers wrap around my wrist. A silent, sharp command.
Wait.
My pulse pounds. I obey, but only because she hasn’t been wrong in her guidance.
Keira’s grip tightens.
Finally, the crowd shifts.
The blonde leans in closer. Way too close. Her breasts brush Gustav’s suit jacket. Her mouth grazes his ear as she whispers something. He goes still.
Then paler.
His jaw tightens. A twitch snaps under his eye.
And then his gaze lifts and finds mine.
