Chapter 23 It's not even noon and already I've had to call in two cleanup crews, one emergency contact at the precinct, and a favor from a man I swore I'd never owe again. All because Semion is hell bent on goading me into a war. This morning, he attacked my men in broad daylight on a street packed with civilians. It wasn't just reckless; it was a message aimed squarely at me. He did it to provoke me, to stir fear in my ranks and in the neighborhood we protect. It makes my blood boil. He's gotten bolder because I haven't responded strongly enough to his other attacks. Maybe Sasha was right all along, and I should've gone in guns blazing. I can't let this disrespect go unchecked any longer. He clearly wants an all-out war. He wants to overtake my territory, to unseat me in my city. He wants to see my blood spilled so he can slide into my place and call it a victory. He doesn't care how many innocent people have to die to make that happen. He's the lowest of the low, and I need to stop him. My jaw tightens as I stare out the window, watching the wind pick up in the garden. A storm is rolling in, in more ways than one. I've worked too damn hard to let Semion upend my legacy. I hoped to manage the problem long enough to avoid an open conflict for a while, at least. This kind of power struggle never ends well. They leave both sides bloodied and civilians dead. When that happens, police get involved, questions get asked, and no one comes out unscathed. I can't afford that kind of scrutiny right now, and I doubt Semion can either. What's his endgame? "He's not gonna come to the table," Sasha mutters from the edge of my desk where he's sitting. "He's made that clear. Hell, he's practically carving up our side of the city already. Today was just him pulling out his dick to show you how big it is." "I know that," I growl. "I mean, that's ballsy as fuck. A shootout in broad daylight?" Sasha exhales a hard breath through his nose. "He's begging for us to respond." I rub the back of my neck, tension coiled like steel. "I don't want to play into his hands," I tell him. "I can't just give him what he wants." "Then what do you suggest we do?" "I don't know yet," I admit, though the words taste bitter on my tongue. "But if I make a move too soon, we lose the upper hand." "We've already lost it," Sasha counters. "First the drops, now this. And our guys are getting restless. They want to know when we're going to hit back." "Well, seeing as they aren't in charge, they can cool their heels." I glance over at him. "And what's your plan, little brother? You going to pick a fight in the middle of Midtown again? Let Semion beat you bloody a second time?" He winces, and I know the words land harder than I intended, but I don't take them back. Sasha's barely recovered from his run-in with Semion's men. I can't let anyone else put their life on the line out of a sense of misplaced pride. "I was just trying to help," he mutters. "I know." I sigh. "But you can help me more by staying alive." "Look," he says after a moment, "I've got some ideas." I raise a brow. "What kind of ideas?" "We hit the ports," he says. "Not the ships themselves, but the paperwork. I've got a guy who can get into their manifests. If Semion's moving arms through the docks again, we'll find out. Then we cut the flow. Quietly. Starve his supply. You said you don't want blood. That's how you hit him where it hurts without firing a shot." I stare at him, considering his plan for a moment. It's actually much smarter than I expected. Maybe he's finally learning to think with his brain and not his emotions. "Get your guy on it," I say. "And send Anton to trail his warehouse. No contact. I just want eyes." "What do we do about the guys? They're getting impatient, and you know what happens then." I do, unfortunately. When our guys get impatient, they tend to be just as reckless as Sasha was. We need to get them under control before they do something stupid that they can't take back. I need to drop the hammer if I'm going to have any chance of keeping them in line. "Let me worry about that," I tell him. "For now, put all your energy into getting into Semion's books. That's how you can be the biggest help to me. And don't get yourself hurt again." "I can't make any promises," he jokes half-heartedly, but it doesn't quite land the way he means it to. "I'm serious, Sasha," I warn. "If you do anything to get yourself hurt again, I'll kill you myself. I'll consider it a direct threat to my authority." "Aw, come on," he chides, hopping off the desk and clapping me on the shoulder. "If I knew you cared about me so much, I wouldn't have done it at all." "You're just lucky Nicole was here to save your sorry ass," I remind him. "What would you have done if she hadn't been here?" "Probably bled out and died." He shrugs, as if it's nothing. My jaw clenches and I'm about to retort when there's a soft knock at the door. I nod, signaling him to open it. "Oh, I'm sorry." Nicole stops when she sees Sasha standing there. "I didn't mean to interrupt; I'm just looking for Sergei." I straighten instinctively, the tension melting away completely. It's as if she sensed I needed her here to calm me down. "You can come in, Nicole," I call to her. Sasha glances back at me; one look tells him to leave. I sit down behind my desk and wave Nicole in. She steps in wearing a soft sweater over a short dress, her hair pulled back so her cheekbones stand out. Her face is free of makeup, yet she's still one of the most stunning women I've ever met. Sasha gives her a quick nod as he slips past her on his way out. "We'll talk more later," he says, shooting me a pointed look. When the door clicks shut behind him, the silence between us stretches. Nicole takes a few tentative steps into the room, then stops, as if unsure of her place. "Everything okay?" I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. She hesitates. "I really didn't mean to interrupt anything," she says nervously, wringing her hands. "I can come back later if you're busy." "You're not interrupting," I say quickly. "You're a welcome distraction." "I'm glad." She smiles shyly. "Is everything okay?" Her worried gaze tells me she genuinely wants to know. She cares. "It's been a rough day," I tell her vaguely. "Work is just extra stressful right now." It's not an outright lie, even if it's not fully the truth. In lieu of a response, she circles the desk, her gaze wicked. She doesn't ask what's bothering me, doesn't press. Instead, she stops behind me and slides her hands gently over my shoulders. I tense at first, unused to this kind of easy intimacy. Her fingers begin to knead into the tight muscles beneath my shirt, her thumbs working the knots with practiced, careful pressure. I exhale through my nose, trying to resist how good it feels. So damn good. She leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice warm and wicked. "You're carrying the weight of the world up here," she says, working out a knot. "Feels like it lately." I sigh, already melting under her fingers. Her hands drift lower, slower, until they reach the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My eyes slide shut as her hands work with a practiced ease. She's a pro at this. When my mother's well, I might pay her to stay on as my personal masseuse. Anything to keep her here. "I could help," she whispers. "You are helping," I moan, leaning further into her touch. "You know what I mean," she murmurs, her voice low, as one hand glides over my chest and drifts lower. The air thickens between us. I turn slightly in my chair, just enough to see her eyes. Her lips are inches from mine, her breath feathering across my skin. My self-control, which is already hanging by a thread, snaps clean in two when her hand stops just inches from my already hardening cock. "If you don't stop touching me like this," I murmur, almost breathless, "I might have to bend you over this desk." She doesn't flinch or even blush. Instead, she leans in, brushing her mouth like a feather against my skin. "I'm not going to stop you," she whispers, the words a shaky moan. Fuck. She's devastatingly sexy when she's confident like this. It makes me want her even more than I already do, which is already a lot. My hand wraps around her wrist and I pull her into my lap in one fluid movement. She gasps softly, straddling me as her dress rides up, exposing the warm, bare skin of her thighs. I lock my arms around her waist, my mouth brushing the edge of her jaw. "You're playing a dangerous game, Nicole," I murmur against her skin. "And you're not stopping me." I drag my lips down her throat, pausing over the racing pulse in her neck. "Tell me to stop," I growl, silently praying she won't. "No," she gasps, her hands wrapping around my neck and holding on for dear life. That one word undoes me. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I kiss her, deep and possessive, my hands gripping her hips so hard I might leave bruises. She doesn't complain or pull away, though. She leans in more, her tongue tangling with mine for dominance. In one fluid motion, I stand, her legs locking around my waist, and set her on top of the desk. I savor the way she looks at me, her eyes dark and lips parted in anticipation. "You drive me insane," I whisper, tugging her body closer. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" "I think I have a pretty good idea," she answers, her eyes glued to my hard-on. She bites her lower lip as I trail a hand down her side, lingering at the dip of her waist. Her body fits against mine like it was made for this. For me. I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Last chance to back out," I tell her. Nicole turns her head, capturing my mouth in a kiss that steals the last of the oxygen from the room. Looks like I'm going to fuck her on top of my desk after all. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...