Page 1

Chapter one

Aman didn’t wake his brother on his wedding night unless someone was dead, dying, or about to wish they were.

No one was dead yet.

So I let Lucian enjoy his new wife and went to Nikolai Volkov, the Russian bratva’s shadow king, who could bury a government problem behind a wall of code before most men finished their first coffee.

I slapped my palm against the private elevator’s scanner.

The panel rattled as I stared straight ahead, jaw locked, while it glowed red then green.

Seconds later, the doors opened into Nik’s Central Park South penthouse. Morning had barely cracked over Manhattan, and pale winter light was just beginning to spill through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was still wearing the tux I’d worn to my brother’s wedding, minus the tie, with a drink carrier in one hand, a sack of bagels in the other, and a legal hit job tucked under my arm.

No sleep.

No patience.

And my Irish temper had burned through every last shred of control I had left, leaving nothing but violence smoldering under my skin and the image of some city attorney’s pretty neck caught between my hands.

The elevator doors whispered shut behind me.

Temporary liquor-license suspension.

Civil enforcement action.

Sexual assault allegation.

Forty-eight hours before escalation.

The words had burned in my gut for the last few hours like battery acid. Not because I understood every legal twist in the stack of papers Isabella Delgado had shoved at me. I didn’t. I knew building codes, profit margins, security plans, corrupt cops, drunk rich boys, and how to make a man regret putting his hands where they didn’t belong.

I didn’t know the finer points of the city’s legal paperwork.

But I knew a threat when it walked through my door flanked by the NYPD.

And I sure as hell knew the name Delgado.

A shadow moved at the far end of the hall.

Nik appeared without a sound, barefoot and dressed in black joggers and a dark gray T-shirt, his hair mussed as if he’d either slept badly or not at all. Knowing Nik, it was the latter. His pale eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled appearance and my weak attempt at breakfast diplomacy.

One corner of his mouth rose.

“That better be coffee.”

“Aye. Brought bagels with lox too—and a city-sized pain in my ass.”

His gaze dropped to the folder tucked under my arm. His faint amusement vanished.

“Your text said there was a problem that couldn’t wait.” His mouth tightened. “You look like shit. What happened?”

“Long night. Figured I’d soften the blow for dragging you out of bed with some of Cipher Coffee’s finest.”

“You didn’t drag me far.” His gaze cut briefly toward the hall that led to his bedroom. “Lacey and I were up late. Weddings make my wife sentimental, and I’m not stupid enough to waste that. She’s finally asleep, so keep your voice down.”

“More than I needed to know.”

“You came to my door at sunrise. You get what you get.”