chapter 1

The club throbbed with low rhythmic bass, the sort that lodged deep in the bones and left the air crackling with electricity. In low, red lights, men in well-tailored suits moved with deadly grace, their words tangled with power manipulations and silent threats.

Adrian Moretti observed them from the VIP balcony, his gloved hands absentmindedly rolling a cigar between them. He didn't like smoking, never had, but it was an old habit. It was one of the few things that occupied his hands when he was cornered into public appearances such as this.

The club, Inferno, was his. Or to be more accurate, the Moretti family's. But everyone understood his father Vito Moretti had long since delegated the nitty-gritty of business to Adrian. The old man remained the patriarch of the family, but Adrian was the one people feared, the one who made the rules stick with precision and viciousness.

Tonight, though wasn't about his family's empire. Tonight, he waited for him.

Nikolai Volkov.

Adrian's jaw clamped hard at the prospect.

A goddamn Volkov.

He hadn't laid eyes on the Russian in more than a year, not since their last meeting in a Monaco casino, where they had sat seething in a wordless war of domination over a single high-roller poker table. Nikolai had taken the first hand and Adrian had taken the last. They had split with nothing but looks that could have cut glass.

They weren't friends. They weren't even partners. But there was someone trying to move against both their families and they shared a common enemy for the first time.

Footsteps coming his way jarred Adrian out of his reverie. A man in a black suit entered the private booth, speaking softly in his ear.

"He's here."

Adrian did not respond, he merely took one final leisurely roll of the cigar before he set it on the table next to his full glass of whiskey.

"Bring him up."

The pause hung, strain coiling tight around the air, until he finally heard it measured, confident steps climbing the stairs.

Then the door creaked open and there he was.

Nikolai Volkov.

Dressed in a dark navy suit, his blond hair tousled just enough to suggest he didn’t give a damn, Nikolai carried himself with the same careless arrogance that had always made Adrian want to put a bullet through his skull.

His piercing blue eyes scanned the room before settling on Adrian with a smirk.

“Moretti,” he greeted, voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

Adrian didn't stand up. Didn't extend a hand. Instead, he leaned back, placing his arms on the leather booth. "Volkov."

Nikolai's grin grew. "No drink for me? I'm insulted."

Adrian breathed deeply, looking at the untouched whiskey on the table. "Didn't know if you were still alive to have one."

Nikolai laughed, moving deeper into the room, his movements slow. "You wound me. Although I suppose I should be complimented. That means you were considering me for once."

Adrian didn't so much as blink, but a part of his chest constricted. That was the issue with Nikolai he enjoyed pushing, enjoyed poking at the limits of Adrian's composure just to see if he could get him to break.

"Sit down," Adrian commanded.

For a moment, Nikolai did not stir. A silent standoff. Two men who would not surrender to anything, not even something as mundane as a request.

Then, with measured languid ease, Nikolai sat down in front of him, legs splayed wide, his posture just as commanding as Adrian's.

"So," Nikolai remarked, steepling his fingers. "What do we do about our little… problem?"

Adrian let the tension simmer a second longer before speaking. “Someone’s moving against both our families.”

“I’m aware.”

“And yet you’re still standing,” Adrian said smoothly. “That surprises me.”

Nikolai’s grin sharpened. “Disappointed?”

Adrian didn’t answer. He reached for his whiskey, taking a slow sip. “I want names. Information. Your people must have something.”

Nikolai’s gaze flickered, assessing. “You think I’ll just hand that over?”

"I believe you'll do what you have to do," Adrian told him. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to wait until this faceless foe kills you before I do."

Nikolai laughed once more, but this time there was an edge to it. "You've always been witty, Moretti."

Adrian nodded his head. "And you've always been an ass. So come on, what do you know?"

Nikolai remained silent for a moment. Then he inched forward, the air between them constricting.

"Enough to know it's more than business," he told Adrian. "Whoever they are, they're not after just the organizations. They're after us."

Adrian's hand froze against the glass.

"They're not after destroying our families," Nikolai went on. "They want us killed."

The tension between the two men built, the air heavy with unspoken things.

Adrian had guessed it. But to hear it aloud made something hard in his stomach solidify.

He and Nikolai weren't fighting their enemy.

They were the enemy.

And the only way to survive was to cooperate.

Even if that meant standing shoulder to shoulder with the one man he'd never permit himself to trust.

Or worse standing too close to the one man who'd ever been able to push back against him.

And not wishing to leave...

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