Chapter 2
Nikolai
The house was quiet in a way that made normal people uncomfortable.
I preferred it that way. Silence was predictable.
Silence didn’t betray you, didn’t ask questions, didn’t bleed all over expensive marble while forcing you to pretend you still gave a fuck about saving people who deserved what happened to them.
It stayed where you left it. Controlled. Obedient. Unlike the rest of the world.
Rain slid against the massive windows lining the back of the house, streaking the glass in silver trails that distorted the woods beyond them.
The property sat hours away from the Voss estate, buried deep enough into isolation that nobody would ever stumble across it accidentally.
I bought the place years ago under another name, another company, another lie buried beneath the thousands my father built his empire on.
Lucien always believed power came from visibility, from making sure people understood exactly who stood above them.
Fear, reputation, influence. He wanted people looking at him while they drowned .
I learned early that real power came from preparation. And I had been preparing for Lucien’s downfall long before Roman Deveraux finally put him in the ground.
The thought should have done something to me.
Rage. Grief. Some ugly crack splitting through my chest because my father was dead and the Voss name now rested entirely on my shoulders.
Instead, all I felt was exhaustion pressing against my ribs like something rotten and heavy had settled there permanently.
Lucien was gone. Mira chose Roman. The empire was splintering beneath my feet while men circled like starving fucking wolves trying to decide whether I was strong enough to replace him or weak enough to become the next corpse buried under the family name. None of it surprised me.
I sat behind the desk in my office with a glass of untouched whiskey beside my hand while security footage flickered across the wall in front of me.
Properties. Warehouses. Safe routes. Every screen carried another piece of the life Lucien built, and every single one of them now belonged to me whether I wanted them or not.
Roman wasted no time tearing through everything tied to the Voss family.
Raids. Frozen accounts. Men disappearing overnight.
He was smart enough to understand that killing Lucien meant nothing if the roots beneath the empire stayed alive.
The difference between Roman and most men was that he didn’t just destroy what was in front of him. He ripped through foundations.
Unfortunately for him, I had already moved most of what mattered before Lucien’s blood cooled.
He was searching properties that no longer held anything valuable while I relocated shipments, rerouted accounts, and buried evidence faster than his people could uncover it.
Lucien taught me how to survive. The difference was I actually listened.
My phone buzzed against the desk, but I ignored it. The silence returned for all of ten seconds before another sound drifted beneath the office door.
Laughter. Bright. Sharp. Female. My eyes closed slowly.
Jesus fucking Christ. Emerald.
Two weeks. That was how long she had been in my house, and somehow the woman I kidnapped had begun acting like she owned the place.
At first, it had been small things. Questions.
Complaints. Demands disguised as observations.
Then she started learning names. Talking to the guards.
Walking into rooms she absolutely should not have been entering while acting personally offended whenever someone tried stopping her. It didn’t make sense.
People feared the Voss family. They feared me . That fear existed for a reason. Yet Emerald moved through the house barefoot half the time, arguing with staff members over coffee brands and criticizing furniture like she was preparing a redesign for some luxury magazine spread.
What the fuck is wrong with her ?
The office door opened without knocking.
Of course it did. Emerald walked in carrying a plate of cookies.
I stared at her for a long moment, trying to process how my life reached a point where the girl I kidnapped for revenge was now barging into my office smelling like vanilla and cinnamon while holding baked goods like some deranged fucking housewife.
The worst part? They smelled incredible.
“You look miserable,” she announced brightly.
“I usually am.”
“Hm.” She stepped farther inside, glancing around the office with narrowed eyes. “Still refusing to open the curtains, I see. Very on brand for you.”
I said nothing. That never stopped her.
“You know this room looks like a villain headquarters, right? Like if someone told me you had a secret underground lair where you tortured people for information, I wouldn’t even blink.”
My jaw tightened slightly. “And what if I do?”
“And you’re brooding again.” She placed the cookies down on my desk before pointing at me dramatically. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being miserable.”
“I do.”
“No normal person says that. ”
“Good thing I’m not normal.”
Her eyes rolled instantly. “God, you’re exhausting.”
She moved around the office like she had every right to be there, adjusting a book slightly on the shelf before walking toward the windows. Then, before I could stop her, she pulled the curtains open. Light flooded the room. I immediately looked at her like I was considering murder.
“Oh my God,” she muttered while looking outside. “See? This is much better. There’s actual sunlight. Nature. Trees. Less serial killer energy.”
“Put them back.”
“No.”
“Emerald.”
She turned toward me slowly, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she crossed her arms. “You know, for someone who kidnapped me, you’re surprisingly bad company.”
“You’re still alive. That already makes me generous.”
Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Wow. Charming.”
I leaned back slightly in the chair, watching her carefully. That was the problem lately. I watched her too much. Not intentionally. My attention just kept tracking her automatically every time she entered a room, and I hated the fact that I even noticed it. She had become impossible not to notice.
The house used to feel cold before she arrived.
Quiet. Controlled. Now there was constant movement.
Constant noise. Guards lingering in the kitchen because she started baking randomly in the middle of the night.
Staff members talking more. Music drifting down hallways because apparently silence was “emotionally repressive.”
I should have shut that shit down immediately. Instead, somehow, she stayed.
My phone buzzed again across the desk. This time I grabbed it.
Malrik Drax. Wonderful.
I answered immediately. “What.”
A low laugh sounded through the speaker. “Still pleasant as ever, little Voss.”
“I’m busy.”
“I heard about Lucien.”
Of course he did. Men like Malrik always heard everything.
“He’s dead,” I said flatly.
Silence hummed briefly over the line before Malrik let out a slow whistle. “That’s a hell of a way to lose a father. ”
I felt nothing hearing the words. No grief. No instinct to defend Lucien’s memory. Maybe that made me a bad son. Maybe Lucien created that problem himself.
“We had a meeting scheduled,” Malrik continued. “He never showed.”
“He had other things going on.”
Another rough laugh came through the phone. “I imagine getting killed would complicate scheduling.”
Emerald looked toward me curiously from across the room.
“I’ll stop by this afternoon,” Malrik said.
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking.” The line disconnected.
I stared at the screen a moment before setting the phone down carefully.
Emerald watched me. “You look extra murdery now.”
“I always look murdery.”
“No, this is different. Your eye twitched.”
“My eye did not twitch.”
“It absolutely twitched. ”
I ignored her entirely while my thoughts turned darker.
Malrik Drax was not someone you casually invited into your home.
He represented the worst parts of the business Lucien built connections through.
Weapons. Drugs. Human trafficking. Violence packaged as commerce.
The man operated like morality was an inconvenience for weaker people.
And unfortunately, he liked Lucien. Which meant he would now take interest in me.
I looked toward Emerald sharply. “You’re staying upstairs this afternoon.”
Her expression immediately soured. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“No.”
I stared at her. She stared right back.
Two weeks ago, I honestly believed fear would eventually settle into her bones. That reality would finally hit her hard enough to crack through all the attitude and sarcasm. Instead, she argued with me like we were equals. It rubbed me the wrong fucking way.
“There’s someone coming here,” I said carefully.
“And?”
“And I don’t want you downstairs.”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t get to order me around. ”
“I literally kidnapped you.”
“Yes, and honestly? The hospitality has been terrible.”
I stepped around the desk slowly. “This isn’t a joke, Emerald.”
Something in my tone must have landed differently because her expression shifted slightly, though the stubbornness stayed exactly where it was.
“Who’s coming?”
“Someone dangerous.”
Her brows lifted. “More dangerous than you?”
“Yes.” That got her attention. I stopped directly in front of her. “Malrik Drax deals in weapons, trafficking, drugs, anything profitable enough to keep men like him breathing another day. Including people.”
For the first time since arriving here, genuine disgust crossed her face.
“He sells people?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sick. ”
I watched anger flicker behind her eyes before continuing coldly, “If you walk downstairs while he’s here and he decides he likes you, he’ll make an offer.”
Her expression hardened immediately. “And?”
“And if the offer benefits me enough, I’ll accept it.”
Silence crashed between us.