Chapter Five-Atlas
It’s been two days since our dinner date, and Cecilia Batiste hasn’t left my head for even one of them.
Two days, and I’m still replaying the way she looked at me across the bed, sweaty and spent and so fucking gorgeous. Like she was one question away from peeling back my skin to see what I’m really made of.
Two days, and I’m still regretting allowing her to leave.
My uncle’s voice buzzes in my ear through the Bluetooth, droning like a gnat.
I stare out the tinted window of my armored SUV, the skyline of Jersey City rising ahead, sharp and slick as a blade.
“Are you paying attention, nephew? These bastards are the reason our fortunes have dwindled! They shut your father out when they should have brought him in—”
“My father lost his fortune on their deal, you lost yours with bad investments. But I got you, Dimitri. I know what I must do,” My tone cuts like glass.
“The deal must be ironclad—”
“I know my job. Don’t call me again. I’ll update you when I have news.”
“Atlas—”
I hang up.
Fuck him.
Arrogant prick.
He’s lived comfortably off the family name his whole life, never risked a damn thing.
It was my father who built something from nothing—who believed in alliances, who gambled on men like the Volkovs and the Furys—and who paid for that mistake with his life.
The deal they stole from him would have made our family untouchable. Instead, he died with nothing, but rage left in his chest.
I carry that rage now. I wear it like a second skin.
But even as I think about revenge, my mind drifts back to her.
Cecilia.
The way her curls framed her face under the moonlight that shone from the windows of my hotel suite.
The way she challenged every word I said.
The way her laugh—rare and sharp—made something in my chest crack open.
Fuck. I should have kept her there. In my bed.
But maybe it’s better this way.
Distance keeps me sharp.
Desire makes men sloppy.
The SUV stops in front of The Den—the Vipers’ fortress. It’s all glass and steel, with enough cameras to make the Pentagon jealous.
I step out, my bodyguards flanking me, and walk inside like I belong here.
Which technically I don’t.
Not yet.
The walk feels endless. When the doors leading to the private offices open, the air shifts—thicker, darker, colder.
Luc Batiste is already there.
I don’t allow my stare to linger because if I do, I might do something dumb.
Like think about how I spent the better part of the other night fucking his only daughter.
And the last thing I need is to get a boner in here.
Angel Fury is beside him.
Nico Fury is center stage. And beside him, lounging with that lazy predator grace, is Adrik Volkov.
Three of the most dangerous men in the tri-state area.
And I’m about to tell them their men can’t control themselves.
“Stavros.” Nico’s voice is calm and measured.
He gestures to a chair opposite them.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
“Why don’t you start by explaining what the fuck happened with the dockworker?”
I don’t sit right away. I look at each of them, one by one, before lowering myself into the seat.
“Sure,” I say easily. “Your men are sloppy. Remy should have told you I don’t work well with men who forget the meaning of respect.”
Angel’s eyebrow shoots up. “Excuse me?”
“Your dockworker tried to force his attentions on a woman after hours.” I lean forward, eyes locked on Luc. “Your daughter, to be exact.”
Silence.
Then, the whole room seems to erupt.
“What the fuck?” Angel bolts upright, palms slamming against the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. “Are you telling me some idiot put his hands on my niece?”
Luc’s face goes blank in that way only men trained to hide fury can manage. His knuckles are white on the armrest.
“Where is he now?”
I shrug one shoulder, lazy.
“Handled.”
Angel narrows his eyes.
“Handled how?”
I smile, but there’s no humor in it.
“He won’t be bothering anyone again.”
“The evidence?”
“What evidence? I know how to handle this kind of business, my friends,” I reply, jaw tight.
Luc exhales slowly, nostrils flaring.
“You protected my daughter.”
“I protected what was mine to protect,” I correct softly.
He studies me for a long moment—assessing, calculating.
“The fuck did you say?”
“My relationship with Cecilia is not up for debate here.”
“There is no relationship with my daughter, you greasy fucking prick!” Luc roars.
And behind those dark assessing eyes, I can see the wheels turning.
But I wonder if he sees the truth.
I wonder if he can tell that the moment I saw Cecilia, something in me shifted.
That all the plans, all the vengeance, all the patient, polished hate I’ve been cultivating for years suddenly feel secondary.
Because I might have come back to America to settle a score. But now?
Now, I think I’ve found something worth more than revenge.
“Don’t tell me you went and did something fucking stupid, Stavros,” Nico growls, jaw clenched tight as a vice.
I meet his glare with one of my own.
“Your dockworker stepped out of line, and I stepped in. Period.”
Angel shifts like he’s trying to suppress a smile, but Luc Batiste’s voice cuts through the room, quiet and deadly.
“Did you fucking touch my daughter? My goddamn daughter!”
I turn slowly, locking eyes with the man who raised her.
“Luc, easy. Now, Stavros, did you put your hands on Cecilia?” Adrik Volkov asks—oh I know who this motherfucker is.
The infamous Dark Wolf. Business mogul. Unquestioned patriarch.
It’s not the question itself that pisses me off—it’s the insinuation.
The idea that I’d hurt her.
The gall to even consider it.
These might be four of the toughest men in the country—hell, in the world.
Nico and Angel Fury.
Adrik Volkov.
Andres Ramirez.
And Luc Batiste himself.
Warriors. Kings. Predators in suits.
Men whose names alone can stall international markets and topple small governments.
But to me?
Right now?
They’re just men.
Men who are failing—spectacularly—to see the opportunity standing directly in front of them.
Cecilia.
And the fact that they don’t understand what she is?
What she could be?
What she already is?
It twists something in my gut. Something protective. Something possessive. Something feral.
So I let them see it.
All the revulsion.
All the disdain.
Every ounce of contempt I feel for the way they’re underestimating the woman who could outthink any of us in her sleep.
“That’s the wrong fucking question,” I say, letting a slow smile curl at my mouth.
A smile that has nothing warm in it. Nothing soft. Just teeth.
“The right one would be—when’s the wedding?”
Silence detonates across the table.
Even Nico blinks, his expression stalled between disbelief and amusement.
Angel actually snorts—like a man who can’t tell if he just heard a joke or if he’s about to witness the start of a dynasty war.
Luc Batiste’s face goes blank. Empty. The kind of empty that means he’s calculating whether this ends in blood or a contract.
But me?
I’ve never been more fucking certain of anything in my life.
Did I plan to say it?
No.
Absolutely not.
But the words came out of me like a truth that had been trying to claw free for a lifetime.
And now that it’s out?
Now that I’ve said it aloud?
I know I’m right.
Whatever this thing is between Cecilia and me—this pull, this burn, this collision we keep circling—I want time to explore it.
Hell, I need that time.
Because while these men are posturing and negotiating and plotting, some bastard calling himself the General is trying to screw me over on the mine contract, claiming I need to renegotiate terms.
He thinks I’ll bend. He thinks I’m distracted.
And maybe I am.
But not for the reason he thinks.
Because yeah, Cecilia could fix that mess in her sleep. She has the degrees, the instincts, the diplomacy.
She could rewrite his entire treaty before breakfast and have the man thanking her afterward.
But that’s not why I want her.
Not even close.
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
A heartbeat.
Two.
And then everything in me clicks into place.
Cecilia wasn’t supposed to be part of the long game.
She wasn’t supposed to matter beyond the edges of a contract.
Just another piece on the board—useful leverage, a temporary ally, someone to negotiate beside before we went our separate ways.
But now?
Now I see her clearly.
No—she’s not part of the game.
She’s the goal.
She’s the end.
The prize.
The fire I never saw coming.
The one thing I suddenly can’t imagine walking away from.
And I’ll risk it all—my deals, my empire, my bloodline, the fragile alliances I’ve spent years constructing—to claim her.
To keep her.
To make her mine in every way the word can mean.
And I don’t care who in this room decides to stand in my way.