Prologue

Viviane

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The warehouse was cold, and the air was filled with the smell of salt and iron. I kept my face still, breathing evenly as I took in the scene in front of me.

Pallets stacked with bricks of cocaine stretched toward the ceiling, row after row of neatly wrapped product, each one stamped with a symbol I’d come to recognize too well.

It was enough to drown the streets in a storm of white powder, and the thought twisted in my gut.

Tomorrow, every ounce of this would be out there, touching lives, ripping through neighborhoods like a fire set by men who didn’t give a damn about the damage.

Nikolai stood at the center with arrogance he wore like a crown. He moved with such confidence, hands tucked in his pockets, an amused smile playing on his lips. To him, all of this was his empire—New York his kingdom, and its people his subjects, whether they knew it or not.

Marco poured a generous amount of whiskey into his glass, raising it with a smirk. “Gentlemen, a toast,” he drawled, his voice was so smooth, “To our King of Cocaine—Nikolai.”

The others grinned, a few laughs rolling through the group. Lorenzo tapped his glass against Marco’s, “We've got every dealer in Manhattan begging to line up for a taste. They can barely keep up with the demand.”

Nikolai swirled his drink, “Supply too much, and they lose their hunger. Keep it just scarce enough, though, and they’ll come crawling.”

Scott leaned back against a crate, a cigar between his fingers as he exhaled slowly, “Once this batch hits,” he said, “We're putting half the other outfits out of business by the end of the week.”

I forced myself not to react, even as my stomach tightened. The nickname hit like a punch to the ribs. I kept my face blank, taking in every detail without a hint of emotion.

Nikolai grinned, that dangerous glint flashing in his eyes, and shrugged like it was nothing, like the power to flood New York with drugs was no different than having control of a remote.

They joked and laughed, talking about how the city would light up once this shipment hit the streets tomorrow.

I knew the reality: the damage this shipment would do, how many lives it would touch, how many people would be caught in the undertow, pulled under and left for dead. I’d seen it before, the domino effect of a drop like this, spreading misery through every block, from every addict to every family torn apart.

Just as I was calculating the numbers in my head, the steel doors of the warehouse creaked open, and a group of soldiers marched in, dragging along nine men, wrists bound behind their backs, faces bruised and bloody. They staggered forward, barely able to keep their balance as they were shoved to their knees in front of Nikolai.

The laughter died, and my pulse spiked. The men were barely upright, faces battered, eyes wide with fear.

“These are the rats,” one of the soldiers said, his mouth twisting with disgust. He gave one of the men a hard shove, sending him forward. “Caught them stealing from your last run, boss. Figured they could skim a little off the top without anyone noticing.”

My gaze shifted to Alessandro, dressed like he’d just stepped out of a high-end club instead of a warehouse reeking of blood and dust.

Those beautiful blue eyes flicked over the kneeling men, like he was sizing them up at an auction. The same blue eyes that could turn so intense, when he looked at me—as if I was the only thing in the room, the only thing that mattered.

But here? They were distant. The warmth he reserved for me was gone.

The way his hand hovered just close enough to his waist that I knew what was coming. He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile pulling at his mouth, “I’ll handle it.”

The words were simple, but I knew the effect would be instant—one of the men choked back a sob, realizing what those three words meant.

Alessandro pulled out a sleek black gun from his waistband and I felt a jolt run through me, a familiar sensation I hated—the thrill and horror mixed up inside of me together.

He fitted a silencer to the barrel, I took in every little movement, my heart pounding in my ears. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t. I had to watch, had to stay in this moment, every nerve alive.

Without another word, he aimed at the first man’s head and fired, the shot muffled by the silencer but deadly sharp in the quiet. The man dropped instantly, slumping to the side, and Alessandro stepped over him like he was nothing more than a speed bump. He moved down the line, like this was routine he’d done a hundred times and maybe he had.

The other men were shaking now, some of them stammering, pleading for their lives. He cocked his head as he listened, amused, as if their pleas were just a pleasant background noise.

“Didn’t think you’d get caught, huh?” he murmured to one of them, the faintest smirk on his lips. “How’d that work out?”

Another shot. Another body crumpled to the floor. I sucked in a sharp breath.

Each man he shot dropped without another sound, ending their lives like they’d never mattered.

By the time he reached the last man, his face was spattered with flecks of blood. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes indifferent as he stared down at the bodies, all lined up like broken dolls at his feet.

The rest of them went back to laughing, talking, like nothing had happened. A joke here, a comment there, all while the smell of blood choked me.

Alessandro slipped the gun back into his waistband, barely sparing a second glance before he turned away, already forgetting the men he’d just erased.

He glanced back over his shoulder, just for a second, locking eyes with me. And then he smiled—almost teasing—and gave me a quick wink, like this was nothing.

Like killing a room full of men was just another part of the day.

Like it was our normal.

And it was.

This was what life with him looked like. This was the future.

Our future.