14. Michael
Michael
She’s a fucking vision.
The room quiets when she walks in, and I catch Romanov’s jaw tighten. Good. Let him look. Let every man in here understand who she belongs to.
Kate slips her arm around mine, and I feel her pulse racing.
“You okay?” I murmur.
“I’m wearing a dress that cost more than my condo, in a room full of criminals, and I still can’t feel my legs.”
I chuckle, kiss her temple. “That’s the idea.”
Phones are gone. The real players are here now—billionaires, oligarchs, warlords in tailored suits. This isn’t a party. It’s a negotiation. A marketplace without rules.
And I brought a queen.
“She stays with you tonight?” Romanov asks, his accent thick as he raises a glass of something expensive.
“She doesn’t leave my sight.”
He nods once, respectful… but his eyes linger too long.
That’s a problem for later.
Behind us, double doors open into a hidden room. A table appears—mahogany, oval, velvet inlays. Dealers in tuxedos. Armed guards at every corner. It begins.
Kate watches, wide-eyed, as the men sit, chips clink, and hands are dealt.
But the real game isn’t poker. It’s power.
A senator from Argentina bets a million in gold.
A European royal puts up land rights.
Romanov raises with crypto and whispers about oil.
And me?
I raise with silence.
Kate slides her hand into mine under the table. I grip it, hard, like an anchor.
Brett—slides up beside me, face tight.
"We have a situation."
I already know it’s bad. I follow him down the curved staircase to the lower lounge, the one supposed to be reserved for quiet deals and aged scotch.
Instead, I walk into chaos.
The VP of Argentina is shouting in Spanish. His translator looks like he wants to crawl under the floor. And Salvatore Russo—a made man from Naples, here on my invite—is being dragged out by two of my security detail, belt half-done and a smug grin on his face.
Kate’s heels click behind me. Of course she followed. Of course.
In the corner, a woman clutches a silk wrap to her chest, eyes wide, face streaked with mascara. The VP’s mistress. Young. Scared. Possibly drugged.
My gaze flicks to her.
"Did you want it?"
She chokes, but nods, hands shaking. "I thought we were alone."
Russo spits blood onto the deck. “She came onto me.”
I look at Kate. Her jaw’s tight, but she’s watching me. Waiting.
I could handle this a dozen ways. All of them violent.
Instead, I tilt my head. “You decide."
Kate’s eyes narrow as she steps closer to the girl, lowers her voice, and speaks with a steadiness that surprises even me. “You wanted it. But he knew exactly who you were and who you were here with. That’s not seduction. That’s a power move.”
She turns to me. “Kick them both off the yacht. No safe return. Let the sharks decide if they are worth the trouble.”
The room stills.
I smirk. “Done.” My men order to get the tender attached to the back ready to dispatch the unwanted guests.
My men move. Russo’s protests are drowned out by the roar of the sea as the deck doors open.
Kate turns and walks past me like a queen, chin high.
I follow her.
She doesn't know it yet, but she just passed her first test.
And in this world? That makes her dangerous.
The moment the deck doors shut behind Russo, the air changes.
Half the men in the room now look at Kate like she’s something new. Something dangerous.
The other half?
They look at me.
Because letting a woman make that call? That’s not just rare in our world—it’s damn near unheard of. But I don’t care. I let her do it because I wanted to see what she’d do. Not because I needed her input.
And she handled it like a boss.
Her hand brushes mine. Still walking forward, unbothered, untouchable—like she hasn’t just exiled a made man into the Atlantic with her words. She leans in, voice low.
"You knew what he did was wrong. You just wanted to see if I'd play queen or peasant."
My lips curl. "You didn’t play either. You ruled."
We round the corner back into the heart of the yacht — the music, the laughter, the sound of money being lost and power being exchanged. She takes her champagne glass from a passing tray and sips it without breaking eye contact.
I want to bend her over the nearest table and show her what ruling alongside me really feels like.
Instead, I lean close, my lips brushing her temple.
“You made a few enemies tonight.”
She hums. “Better than being underestimated.”
Damn, I love that fire in her.
But just as I'm about to pull her close again, Romanov materializes.
“Michael,” he purrs, drink in hand, eyes lazily tracking Kate like a man used to taking what he wants.
“Romanov,” I bite out, offering a tight smile.
“Your girl. She's... impressive.” He sips his vodka. “Does she always come so sharp out the gate? Or is this just for us?”
My hand finds Kate’s hip.
She doesn’t flinch. She just sips her drink and says, “Only for the men who think they’re in charge.”
Romanov barks a laugh, then lets it fade into something darker. “Well. If you tire of the game, Michael... let me know. I always like a woman with teeth.”
I step forward once. Subtle. But enough.
The glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly how far he’s just pushed.
“Kate’s not a game,” I say, low and calm. “She’s the house. And you don’t win by betting against her.”
A tense silence.
Then Romanov laughs again, raises his glass, and disappears back into the crowd.
Kate sighs once he’s gone. “Tell me that man doesn’t sleep with knives under his pillow.”
I smirk. “He doesn’t sleep. Not when he’s hunting.”
Kate finally turns to me, some of the adrenaline fading. “Do we have to stay much longer?”
I take her glass and set it aside, pulling her flush against me.
“We made our point. Let them whisper.”
I nod to Brett. He knows the look. In five minutes, our chopper will be prepped on the helipad.
Kate stiffens in my arms. “Wait—we’re not staying on the yacht?”
“No.” I lean into her ear. “I promised you the stars tonight. I’m done sharing your light. I can tell you are uncomfortable here. I won’t make you stay any longer.”