POV: First Person (Julian)
I tore my mouth away from hers, gasping. Isolde's lips were swollen, dark, and utterly intoxicating. Her eyes were glazed with a desire that mirrored the brutal hunger in my gut.
If we stayed in this car another minute, the merger would be consummated right there, and I'd lose the upper hand.
"That's enough," I managed, my voice hoarse, my control hanging by a thread.
"No, it isn't," she breathed, her fingers tightening on my suit. She was trying to pull me back to her. She was pure temptation.
I grabbed her wrists and gently, but firmly, pushed her back into her seat.
"We don't mix business with pleasure, Isolde," I said, leaning back against the leather.
"This is not pleasure," she countered, her voice low and furious. "This is war. And you just retreated."
"I retreated because I don't fight fair," I told her, my eyes dark. "When I take you, it will be the end of the line. There will be no going back to playing the fiancée. There will be only submission. And I need you clear-headed for the next move."
The brutal honesty shocked her into silence.
"You're coming upstairs," I commanded, opening the car door. "We need to set up the next move."
Upstairs in the penthouse, I walked straight to the secure communication center, leaving Isolde to navigate the adrenaline crash alone.
She followed me, moving with a predator's grace that made every movement mesmerizing. She was still reeling from the kiss, still high on adrenaline, but her focus was already shifting.
"If Vance sells you the debt, the Sterlings are neutralized," she said, her voice dry, professional. "What about Harrison? He will panic. He might leverage the family's assets to hire more... thugs."
"He's already panicking," I said, pulling up Jax's latest surveillance reports on the holographic table.
The table showed a live feed of Harrison's luxury flat. Harrison was there, looking sweaty, talking frantically on a burner phone. But behind him, sitting casually on his sofa, was a figure that made my blood run cold.
A man I hadn't seen in five years.
"Who is that?" Isolde asked, stepping closer to the holographic projection.
"That is the man who taught me how to break bones and survive on raw hate," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "His name is Elias. He was my mentor in the Pits. The Butcher's enforcer."
"Why is he talking to Harrison?"
I gripped the edge of the table, the old trauma making my hands shake slightly.
"Because Elias only works for one man," I grated out. "The true head of the Syndicate. The man who ordered me killed five years ago, and the man who pulls all the strings in this city."
I looked at Isolde. The realization was heavy, sinking into my stomach like lead.
"We just realized this is not a family feud, Isolde," I concluded. "It's a global power struggle. And the person Harrison is talking to... is the one who set up the entire game."
