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The champagne bucket was silver-plated, weighted with a thick brass base, and heavy enough to crack pavement. / Chapter 3 / 8

Chapter 3 - THE PRIVATE WARD

The sleek black bulletproof Maybach cut through the rain-slicked streets of the city at a terrifying speed.

Inside the leather-trimmed cabin, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Priya sat on the opposite side of the spacious backseat, her arms crossed defensively, her knuckles bruised and scraped.

“You’re taking me back to the club,” Priya said flatly. “Or dropping me at the subway. I have to get to City General Hospital. My brother is there.”

Elliot poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, swirling it slowly. “Your brother. Aarav Sharma. Nineteen years old. Hit-and-run three weeks ago on 4th Street. Medical bills totaling over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, currently resting in Room 412.”

Priya stiffened, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “How do you know that?”

“I own the hospital, Priya,” Elliot replied smoothly, taking a sip. “And more importantly, I make it my business to know every single person who touches my orbit. Especially women who can snap a hitman’s spine with a soup bucket.”

“I don’t care who you own,” Priya snapped, leaning forward. “Let me out of this car right now.”

Elliot didn't yell. He didn't blink. He simply reached out and pressed a button on the console. The privacy partition slid down.

“Driver, take us to City General Hospital. VIP Wing,” Elliot commanded.

Priya stared at him, stunned. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Elliot said, his voice dropping to a hypnotic, low register as he leaned closer, trapping her in his personal space. “You saved my life tonight. In my world, debts are paid in full—with interest. And more than that... I hate being outmatched. But I love finding a rare, lethal jewel where nobody else was looking.”

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The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped, dimly lit kitchen, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging inside Adrian Whitmore’s mind. Standing just beyond the rotting wooden doorframe of her apartment, hidden by the heavy shadows of the crumbling stairwell, the millionaire tried to steady his breathing. His expensive wool coat was soaked through, but he didn’t care. His eyes were entirely fixed on the scene unfolding a few feet away.

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant.

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath...

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the sl...

He reached out, his thumb lightly tracing the line of her jawline. A jolt of electric heat sparked between them, unexpected and terrifying.

“Let’s go see your brother,” Elliot whispered. “And then, we’re going to talk about your future.”

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