The ink on the temporary guardianship emergency decree was barely dry before I realized the magnitude of what I had just done. In the eyes of the law, Vincent Hale was a titan of industry with a fortress of legal protection; in the eyes of a cold, tired, and deeply suspicious seven-year-old, I was just a stranger who smelled like expensive wool and impending doom.

It was a trap, wrapped in silk and coated in arrogance. Rostov wanted to test if the great Vincent Hale was truly back from the grave or if the rumors of my terminal illness had left me weak.

I didn't hesitate. I locked down the penthouse security protocols, doubled Marcus's private detail around Lucy, and dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit that fit my frame like armor.

When my Maybach pulled up to the Obsidian Club—a decaying brick warehouse converted into an illicit high-roller casino on the edge of the East River—two armed enforcers stood waiting at the heavy iron doors. They patted me down with professional precision, though they missed the custom titanium blade strapped securely to my left forearm.

Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the heavy bass of electronic music. At the back of the VIP lounge, sitting in a velvet booth surrounded by four heavily armed bodyguards, was Viktor Rostov. He was pouring a glass of amber scotch, a jagged scar stretching from his jawline to his ear.

"Vincent," Rostov boomed, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming an old friend. "They said the cancer had you in a box six feet under. But looking at you now, you still look like the grim reaper's favorite nephew."

"Cut the pleasantries, Viktor," I said, sliding into the opposite booth without waiting for an invitation. I didn't touch the scotch. "You bought contracts that belong to Hale Enterprises. State your price and clear out of my docks by midnight, or this conversation ends very differently."

Rostov laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think you still run this city, Vincent? You’re soft. You spent six months playing house with a stray orphan. You forgot how blood smells."