Damius watched us both, satisfied by the blend, my silence, Nik’s language.
Then his eyes landed on me. “You will learn softness. You will apply it correctly. Thorne blood will not be damaged under your hands. You are ruthless. I made you that way.” His mouth tilted, pride and threat braided together. “My strongest Crow.”
Monster, the word he never needed to say.
“I will keep the oath,” I said, because anything less would have been insult. I would never raise a hand to Madeline. I will however, break every hand that reaches for her.
Nikolai added the structure. “We’ll put a logistics plan on your desk by week’s end. Thorne assets that transfer under the crest. Security adjustments in Villain when the announcement hits. A lock-in timeline that ensures Villain remains covered while Vince fulfills codex obligations on the island.”
Damius gave a single nod, ceremonial in its restraint, like he’d stamped the decision into the air.
I stood. The estate still felt like it was trying to own me as I turned toward the door.
Nikolai rose with me, only speaking when we’d crossed the threshold and the portraits were behind us.
“You didn’t pass out,” he tapped the elevator, “Good.”
“Fuck you.”
He huffed, the ghost of a smile. “I’ll start pulling the Thorne and Marcellus portfolios. You’re going to the War Room. Rome and Bastion are waiting. Luca too.”
“For what.”
“To build the logistics you just promised. And to keep you from flying to St Cross and putting Aurelio Marcellus through a wall before the paperwork’s dry.”
My hands flexed at my sides.
“Nik.”
He glanced over. “Yeah.”
“If I ruin her?—”
“You won’t, probably come close trying. But you won’t. That’s what the lock-in is for. That’s what the rest of your life is for.”
I’d walked into the lion’s den and left with permission.
Now to make sure the monster Damius built learned how not to ruin the only woman I’d ever wanted to kneel for.
50
Madeline
How the fuck had this happened. The thought was on repeat as I walked into the Sovereign Codex chamber.
The room was built to intimidate—dark wood, pillars carved with old crests, gold inlay stamped into the floor like a warning. Four dynasties, four pillars. The kind of space you only heard about in whispered histories and threat-laced dinner conversations.
I’d never been inside it. These weren’t normal chambers. These were the chambers dynasties were summoned to discuss wars before they broke out. When the discussions needed sovereign intervention.
My father’s hand hovered at my back, guiding more than touching. He didn’t push. He didn’t have to.
Then I saw them.
Across the long table sat the Crow delegation, already arranged as if they’d been waiting for hours. Damius Crow at the center—eyes too bright for his age, that biotech gleam making him look carved from something younger than eighty. Early fifties, maybe, if you didn’t know better. Nikolai on his right, posture immaculate, expression blank in a way that felt practiced. Vincent Crow on his left.
Formal black. Crest ring. Jaw set like he was holding his temper. Barely.
He didn’t look at me.
