Page 113 of Desperate Crimes
Because when his grip tightens—just slightly—I feel anchored. Centered. His claim grounding me in the chaos.
I want to lean into it. Want him to tighten it. To mark me. Let them all see.
But then he pulls back. His touch slips away like silk dragged over bare skin, leaving me bereft.
Empty. Wanting.
He steps forward instead. A shield of tailored Italian linen and seething male dominance.
And I hide behind him.
I let him be the wall between me and the incoming storm.
The air shifts again.
I notice my husband’s father and mother stepping into the room from the terrace doors.
Nico and Anna Fury. Power couple. The King and Queen of the Vipers.
My father-in-law is all muscle and menace wrapped in a custom tux. Anna walks beside him in a mocha colored gown that shimmers with gold thread and crystals when she walks. It’s lovely as she is.
Her eyes are on her son, already scanning for injury.
The Volkovs and the Furys. Wolves and Vipers.
Two dynasties. Two dangerous legacies.
Meeting in one gilded ballroom.
God help us all.
All our cousins are whispering now. Lucy’s mouth falls open. Cora grabs Aella’s hand. Clementine mouths no fucking way as they stare.
And then—he’s in front of us.
Adrik Volkov. My father.
His hands are fists. His eyes are murder.
And his voice? When it cracks through the still air?
It’s low and lethal.
“My office. Now.”
The room shatters.
And all I can do is hold my breath—and pray Nico doesn’t punch my father in front of three hundred people.
I squeeze Nico’s arm, not because I’m scared—at least not in the way I thought I would be—but because this moment is molten with pressure.
My lungs feel too small. My heartbeat too loud. My father’s anger simmers like a bomb, and we’re standing right on top of it.
I’ve never seen him like this.
Not with me.
Because I’ve always been pretty good.
