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The DeLuca estate sits on the Upper East Side like it’s been there since before the street was built around it. Old stone, no visible security, the kind of building that stopped apologizing for itself a hundred years ago. Staff at the door, marble inside, art on the walls that costs more than most people see in a lifetime. I’ve been here enough times that it doesn’t impress me anymore. That’s probably the point.

Lorenzo meets me in the hall. Silver at the temples, suit that costs a fortune, the handshake of a man who’s never needed to raise his voice because rooms have always gone quiet when he walked in.

“Volkov,” he says. “I wanted a word before the others arrive.”

We go to his study. Two chairs, a drink I don’t refuse because refusing Lorenzo’s drinks is bad politics. He gets to it fast, which is one of the things I respect about him.

“The other kings are nervous,” he says. “Berezin had relationships across the Crown. His death without consultation was noticed.”

“Berezin was stealing from the Bratva,” I say. “That’s our business.”

“When it destabilizes Crown relationships it becomes everybody’s business.” He sets his glass down. “Tell me about the girl.”

“My fiancée,” I correct. Of course he already knows about her. I’d be surprised if he didn’t.

What I don’t tell Lorenzo is that she found something in that apartment. That Berezin hid a drive from my sweep and his daughter walked out with it. That I let her in because she’s the closest thing I have to a lead. The man who gave the order is still breathing. Six weeks. I promised Lavro I’d find who did it, and I’m sitting in Lorenzo’s study with nothing. That’s the part I can’t put down.

He tilts his head to the side. “Tell me about your fiancée.”

“She came to me,” I say as vaguely as possible. “Said she needed protection. Made an offer.”

“And you agreed,” Lorenzo says.

“Have you seen her?” I say. “She’s hot as hell. We’ll have beautiful kids, and I won’t mind fucking her more than once to get there.”

Lorenzo stares at me for a second. Then he laughs. “So it made sense.”

“It made sense,” I say.

“And the girl herself?”

“Handles herself well,” I say. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

He picks up his glass. “I like her already.”

We go back out when the others start arriving. The main room is big, with high ceilings and staff moving at the edges. And near the far door, the small silver-haired woman I’ve seen at every Crown gathering at this estate. Lorenzo’s mother-in-law. She’s always there, always moving at the edges, directing staff, straightening things. A proper matriarch, keeping the household running without a hitch.

The kings come in over twenty minutes. Adrianos first, all easy charm and expensive cologne, the kind of man who makes every room feel like he chose it specifically for you. Declan after him, already has a drink in his hand before he sits down, nods at me like we’re at a pub and not a Crown meeting. Santiago last, youngest of us, jaw tight before he’s even in the door, eyes hot, like he came in already ready to argue with someone but hasn’t decided who yet.

We sit. Lorenzo starts the meeting, going straight to the point.

“Berezin,” he says.

“The Bratva handled an internal matter,” I say. “He was stealing from our operations. It was dealt with.”

“Without Crown consultation,” Adrianos says.

“It was Bratva business.”

“When a man with Crown connections disappears,” Adrianos says, leaning back with a small smile, “the ripples reach everyone. You understand how it is.” He spreads his hands like he’s offering something generous. It’s more irritating than if he’d just accused me outright.

“It won’t happen again,” I say. “Because I’m marrying his daughter. Tomorrow. The matter’s closed.”

The room goes quiet in the way that means nobody wants to be first.

Declan puts his glass down. “You’re marrying Berezin’s daughter.”

“Da.”