Chapter Thirty-Seven-Atlas
If there’s one thing harder than international arms negotiations, it’s walking into a room full of powerful men who all think you might break their daughter’s, or niece’s, or cousin’s, heart.
The air in the library-turned-groom’s-luncheon is thick with expensive cologne, smoke from a lit cigar no one is actually smoking, and tension.
Real tension.
The kind that comes from five alpha males deciding whether or not to throw you into the ocean behind your own castle.
Luc Batiste levels me with a stare that could crack titanium.
“I’ve got just one question for you, Atlas,” he says, sipping his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping his hands from becoming weapons. “Was this always about her? Or was she just collateral in one of your schemes?”
The room goes still.
Even Nico Fury Sr. pauses with a glass half-raised.
I could lie.
I could finesse. Charm. Redirect.
But the truth is what matters now. And she deserves it said out loud.
“At first?” I say, voice steady. “I didn’t know Cecilia existed.
So, no, it wasn’t about her. It was about an old grudge.
A broken deal I was led to believe ruined my father.
Dimitri fed me stories for years. Told me the Volkovs, and the Furys kicked him out of a joint venture at the last minute, cost my father everything. I wanted vengeance.”
Luc’s jaw tightens.
Adrik Volkov, his brother, Marat, Josef Aziz, Andres Ramirez, Nico and Angel Fury, all stand—and none of them blink.
“But,” I continue, hands raised placatingly, “I did my own digging after Cecilia came into my life. She asked the right questions. Made me question everything I’d been told. And I found the truth.”
I glance toward Nico Sr., and the Viper nods once.
He already knows what I’m about to say.
“That deal?” I say. “It was a solid deal. And Viper Enterprises only entered the deal with Volkov Industries after my father backed out. He wasn’t kicked out like Dimitri said.
No, my father—God rest him—was not a great businessman.
He pulled out at the last minute. For personal reasons, I’m told.
I believe it was grief over the death of my mother. The point is, Dimitri lied.”
Adrik nods.
Nico Sr. lets out a low grunt.
“Figures. I remember that deal. We were on the periphery, ready to give Stavros his due, but he made a call, pulling out hours before we came on board with the Volkovs. We actually took a loss at first,” he admits.
“Yes,” Adrik continues the tale, “but we moved on. Shame about your father. Would’ve made a hell of a partnership.”
Luc doesn’t say anything. His knuckles are white on the glass.
“I was manipulated,” I say. “But I fixed it. I’ve already told my wife everything. There are no secrets between us. She knows who I was when we met. She knows who I am now. And the only thing I care about anymore is Cecilia. Being with her, loving her, protecting her. She’s my whole world.”
I stand.
The quiet rage inside me simmering just beneath the surface, but my voice stays low, deadly honest.
“No one is taking her from me. Ever again. She is worth more than any deal, any crown, anything I’ve ever known or heard of. She is everything.”
For a moment, the room is dead silent.
Then Nico Sr. smirks and lifts his glass.
“Amen, brother.”
“Agreed,” Luc mutters, finally sitting back in his chair, tension bleeding out of his shoulders like he’s decided not to kill me. Today.
I’ll take it.
I exhale.
Only slightly.
Because I may have just won over her family.
But the real prize will be waiting for me at the altar later this evening.
And I’m not going to be satisfied until I claim my bride, and her me, in front of all and sundry.
Hell, I’ll never be satisfied until Cecilia Stavros is mine in every possible way.
And I plan to have her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Till death do us part, and maybe not even then.