The penthouse was a sanctuary of glass, but inside, the air felt like it was made of pressurized mercury. It had been forty-eight hours since Dante had returned from the "Night of Long Knives," and he hadn't slept. He sat at the head of the long obsidian dining table, which had been converted into a tactical hub.
Anna stood by the window, watching the city below. It looked the same—the neon lights of the commercial district, the smog over the industrial zone—but she knew it was different. The silence coming from the streets was unnatural. The usual sirens were absent. The city was holding its breath.
"Come here, Anna," Dante rasped. He didn't look up from the tablet he was scrolling through, but his voice had that low, magnetic pull that always made her heart skip.
She hesitated, then walked over. She was wearing a silk slip dress he had chosen for her—the color of a deep, vintage wine. It felt like a second skin, far too thin for the air-conditioned chill of the room.
"Look at this," he commanded, gesturing to the screen. It was a live feed of the city's central transport hub. "The Syndicate used to charge a thirty-percent protection fee to every driver. It was chaotic. It was greedy. It led to theft and desperation."
He looked up at her then, his obsidian eyes Dilated. "My rule is different. Starting today, the 'Vane Tithe' is fifteen percent. Flat. No exceptions. But in return, I provide a Silencer in the passenger seat of every high-value cargo truck. If a single box goes missing, the driver isn't blamed. The man who stole it is hunted. Within a week, the cost of insurance in this city will drop by half."
"You're acting like a businessman," Anna whispered, leaning over the table to see the logistics.
Dante reached out, his hand catching her waist and pulling her toward him until she was forced to stand between his legs. He didn't look back at the screen. He looked at her.
"I am the only businessman that matters," he murmured, his hand sliding up her ribcage, his thumb grazing the side of her breast through the silk. The contact was electric, a slow-burn torture that made her breath hitch. "The Mayor thinks he runs the police. The Governor thinks he runs the taxes. They are children playing in a sandbox I built."
He leaned in, his face inches from her stomach. "You see the beauty in it, don't you? The order. The logic."
"I see the fear, Dante," she said, her voice trembling as she tried to ignore the way his heat was seeping into her.
"Fear is just the foundation," he whispered, his lips grazing the silk over her hip. "Gratitude is the skyscraper. By next month, these people will love me for the peace I've bought them with the blood of their former masters."
He looked up at her, a dark, teasing smirk playing on his lips. "You're shivering, Anna. Is it the cold, or are you finally admitting that you like the way I've reshaped the world for you?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He let go of her, but the ghost of his touch stayed on her skin like a brand. "Get the Mayor on the secure line. It's time he learned his new script."