@Sienna’s fingers remained buried in the coarse, warm fur behind Bruiser’s cropped ears. Her pulse hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, each beat echoing in her ears. She hadn't planned on answering Julian Rourke. She hadn't planned on breathing too loudly in the same room as a man who made the Detroit police department look like a block-party planning committee.

The Rourke Foundation wasn't just a front; it was the sprawling financial nervous system of Detroit’s underworld, cleverly wrapped in layers of real estate holding companies, charitable trusts, and import-export conglomerates. Julian wasn't just a mob boss—he was a corporate warlord who operated in the grey spaces where the city's corrupt politicians, union bosses, and street syndicates intersected.

And Sienna was the only person he trusted to keep the books straight.

She sat at a small oak desk tucked into the corner of the grand library, surrounded by towers of invoices, property deeds, and offshore transaction records. Day after day, Julian worked at his massive desk across the room, rarely speaking unless it was to hand her a new file or correct a mathematical discrepancy.

Yet, despite the tension, an unspoken rhythm developed between them.

Bruiser had officially abandoned his rug by Julian’s desk and now spent his entire day lying directly across Sienna’s feet, using her ankles as a heated pillow. Whenever Julian looked up from his work, half the time he found Sienna furiously cataloging land titles while absentmindedly scratching the massive pit bull behind the ears.

"You're spoiling him," Julian remarked one afternoon, tossing a sealed manila folder onto her desk.

"He's the only one in this room who doesn't look at me like I'm a ticking time bomb," Sienna replied without looking up from her ledger.

"He's a killer, Sienna. Not a lapdog."

"He's a dog who appreciates a good scratch," she countered, finally raising her eyes. "Unlike some people I could mention."

Julian’s mouth twitched into that familiar, infuriating smirk. "Are you calling me unappreciative, Miss Cole? I pay you five thousand a week to alphabetize paper."

"You pay me to keep your empire from collapsing under its own tax fraud," she corrected smoothly. "There’s a difference."

Before Julian could retort, the heavy oak doors of the library slammed open.

A man burst in, breathing heavily, his face slick with sweat. It was Marcus Vance, Julian’s chief enforcer—a hulking brute with a broken nose and a permanent scowl.

"Boss," Vance panted, ignoring Sienna entirely. "We got a problem on the waterfront. The East Side crew just hijacked the container shipment coming in from Windsor. They torched the truck, and Jimmy is dead."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees instantly.

Julian didn't shout. He didn't slam his desk. He simply set his pen down with agonizing slowness, stood up, and buttoned his jacket. The casual, almost playful demeanor vanished, replaced by the terrifying, cold aura of the man they called The Reaper.

"Who authorized it?" Julian asked, his voice chillingly quiet.

"Dante Rossi," Vance snarled. "He’s testing us. He thinks you've gone soft because you've been spending too much time playing corporate accountant."

Marcus's eyes flicked sideways toward Sienna, a cruel, predatory gleam entering them. "And maybe spending too much time bringing stray waitresses into the inner sanctum."

Sienna froze, her pen slipping from her fingers.

Julian didn't move for a full second. Then, he turned his head slowly toward Marcus. The look in Julian’s eyes made the enforcer take an involuntary half-step back.

"Marcus," Julian said softly.

"Boss?"

"Miss Cole is my archivist. She works for me." Julian stepped around his desk, closing the distance between himself and his enforcer with terrifying speed. "If you ever look at her with that tone again, I'll feed you to the dog piece by piece while she watches. Do we understand each other?"

Vance swallowed hard, his face turning pale. "Yeah, boss. Crystal clear."

"Good," Julian said, adjusting his cuffs. "Get the cars ready. We're going to pay Dante Rossi a visit."