I glance at him. “How so?”
“A couple of men from Philly were sniffing around. Asking questions they shouldn’t. One of the girls said someone tried to tip her five grand for your schedule.”
My jaw tics. “Who?”
“Taken care of. He won’t be back.”
Good. I nod once, but the knot in my gut doesn’t ease. I make my way through the main floor, watching as dancers work the poles with artful precision and men throw cash with greedy eyes. The DJ gives me a nod. A few of the girls pause mid-routine just long enough to shoot me those wide, flirtatious smiles. I don’t entertain them.
I head to my office on the second floor, where bulletproof windows overlook the floor below. It’s quiet up here. My throne away from home. I pour myself a drink—just a splash of whiskey, something smooth—and look out over what I’ve built.
I settle into the leather chair behind my desk, letting the silence of my office wrap around me. From here, the pulse of Monarch feels distant, like it belongs to another version of me. One who lived for control, profit, and power, and didn’t know what he was missing.
Before Zara, I thought this was the peak. The club, the name,the empire. Nights spent surrounded by money and women who’d sell you a dream if you tipped enough. I built a life of indulgence, every inch designed to keep people at a distance while I sat behind glass, untouchable. It worked. For a while.
But no one had ever looked at me the way she does—like I’m more than all of this. Like I could be something soft, even when my hands are covered in blood.
I glance down at my ring. A simple platinum band. Hers matches it. I didn’t think to get her engagement ring, it seemed pointless with the path I took us on.
A knock pulls me from my thoughts. Nico steps in without waiting for a response, shutting the door behind him.
“So, how’s married life? Lars told me about the penthouse, is Zara okay?” he asks, always quick to get to the point.
“She’s fine,” I say, but the edge in my voice tells him enough. “The estate’s locked down, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Someone knew where we were. Got close enough to fire through the glass.”
Nico’s jaw flexes. “You think Falco’s reaching into the city again?”
I shake my head. “I think he never really left. Just got smarter. Which means we need to be smarter, too.”
Nico nods. “You want more men at the club?”
“I want eyes on everyone who walks in,” I say. “If someone flashes cash for information, I want their name. Their face. Their fucking blood type. You see anyone sniffing around again, you call me. Direct.”
“Got it.”
“And Nico?” I look up, meeting his eyes. “You don’t just protect this place anymore. You protect her. If anyone finds their way to Zara through this club—anyone—you’ll have me to answer to.”
He nods once, serious. “Understood.”
He leaves without another word, and I sit there for a moment longer, staring out over the floor below.
This used to feel like a kingdom. Now it feels like a front. My real empire is waiting back at the estate. Green eyes. Sharp tongue. A war queen wrapped in bedsheets. And I’ll destroy everything I’ve built if it means keeping her safe.
The evening sunshines golden over the estate when I pull up to the house. Being away from Zara, even for one day, leaves a hollow throb in my chest. Like some vital tether’s been stretched too thin.
But what I’m about to do has to be done alone.
I find Violette in the east garden, just off her wing of the house. Martini in hand, hair swept into something elegant that probably took an hour to look effortless. She’s laid out on a chase lounge like it’s a throne and she’s Empress of the Fuck-Around-and-Find-Out Dynasty.
She doesn’t look up when I approach, just tips her glass toward the roses blooming behind her. “They’ve finally come in. Thought the frost this past spring would kill them. Hardy little things.”
“Like you,” I say, taking the seat beside her.
“Like your girl,” she corrects, turning to me now. “I saw her the other morning in your shirt, stealing strawberries and humming to herself like she owns the damn house. She fits, Enzo. Scary how well.”
“She does,” I agree, then lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. I stare at the gravel beneath our feet for a long beat before finding the right words. “I didn’t give her a choice, though. Not really.”
Violette’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I expected. “No, you didn’t.”
