I thought passing out from a fever while cleaning the mansion was the worst thing that could happen to me, right up until Victor Russo locked eyes with me and refused to let me walk away.

Victor didn't deny it. He didn't offer a corporate excuse or try to brush it off as a clerical error. Instead, he simply leaned back against the edge of his massive oak desk, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze steady and unapologetic.

"Forty-seven thousand dollars is pocket change, Bennett," Victor said quietly. "It's what I spend on a single shipping manifest audit. Your brother deserves a fighting chance, and you deserve to sleep more than three hours a night without worrying whether the hospital is going to pull the plug."

"I didn't ask for charity," I retorted, my cheeks burning with a mixture of pride and mortification. "I'm a housekeeper. I work for my money."

"You worked every single hour of it," Victor countered smoothly, pushing off the desk and stepping closer to me until I could feel the clean, crisp scent of his cologne. "And you earned every cent of it by doing something no one else in this city has ever managed to do: you gave me peace. That has a value far beyond forty-seven thousand dollars, Chloe."

The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming. There was a raw, aching sincerity beneath his hardened exterior—a glimpse of the man he had been before the blood, the bullets, and the throne made him a legend.

"Why do you let everyone think you're a monster?" I asked softly, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them.

Victor’s jaw tightened. A dark shadow passed over his features, hardening his expression like carved stone. "Because monsters don't get betrayed by the people they love, Chloe. Monsters don't have weaknesses that rivals can exploit. In my world, showing warmth is an invitation for a knife between your shoulder blades. I built this armor because the alternative was getting torn apart piece by piece."

"And me?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm standing right here in the middle of your armor."

"You're the crack in it," Victor murmured, his hand reaching out to gently trace the edge of my jawline, his fingers warm and calloused against my skin. "And God help me, I don't even want to fix it."

Before I could process the terrifying, thrilling weight of his words, the sharp, shrill ring of the secure intercom on his desk shattered the intimate silence.

Victor cursed under his breath, dropping his hand and turning sharply toward the console. He pressed the speaker button.

"Speak, Marcus," Victor ordered, his voice instantly snapping back into the cold, razor-sharp register of the syndicate boss.

"Sir," Marcus’s voice crackled through the speaker, tight with urgency. "We have a perimeter breach at the north service gate. A vehicle just tried to ram the security barrier. It's Vance's crew. They're testing us directly."

Victor’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, glacial fury. "Lock down the estate. Move all secondary staff to the secure basement shelter immediately. I'm coming down."

"Understood, sir. What about—" Marcus started, before pausing.