I took the fall for Dennis Henson's money-laundering operation. Five years in a women's prison, where they beat me so badly I nearly lost my uterus.

Before I went in, he kissed the shell of my ear and whispered that when I got out, the entire East District would be my wedding gift.

The day I walked free, his motorcade was waiting. And there he stood, in the middle of it all, draping his suit jacket over the shoulders of a rival syndicate's simpering little bastard daughter.

"She's carrying my child. In this line of work, she won't survive without a clean name. You've already got a record, so just hand over the queen's seat to her."

Every man in the Syndicate swallowed hard, certain I was about to pull a trench knife and sever his tendons at the ankle.

Instead, I brushed the dust off my prison uniform and let one word fall, cold as a blade: "Fine."

I turned around and slipped on the wedding ring offered by the Inner Circle's bloodthirsty crown prince himself.

On our wedding night, Dennis knelt on a carpet of broken glass, a gun jammed under his own chin. "You take off one piece of clothing and I'll blow my brains out right here in front of your marriage bed!"

——

"Drive. Don't let the filth outside dirty my eyes."

I leaned back against the Maybach's leather seat, my voice raw.

Beyond the window, Dennis was slamming his palms against the bulletproof glass.

That face of his, always so composed, so calculating, was twisted now. Nothing but shock and panic in his eyes.

Nellie Fox stood where he'd shoved her aside, shivering in the autumn wind, staring in disbelief at the convoy of blacked-out sedans bearing consecutive government plates.

"Margot Delgado! Have you lost your mind? Get the hell out of that car!"

The driver didn't hesitate. He floored it. The V12 engine let out a deep, guttural roar.

The man I'd spent five years protecting with my life shrank into exhaust fumes and dust.

The man sitting beside me took his time peeling off the black leather gloves he always wore, revealing a pair of pale, elegant hands.

Christian Finley. The Inner Circle's infamous crown prince—bloodthirsty, volatile, and utterly unpredictable.

He tossed the gloves aside. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, narrow eyes studied me.

"Ms. Delgado. Right now, you look like an abandoned dog."

He leaned in without warning and seized my chin.

His thumb dragged roughly across my cracked lips, the corner of his mouth curling upward.

"Lucky for you, I have a weakness for picking up feral cats. Especially the bleeding ones."

Pain shot through my jaw, bone grinding against bone. I didn't struggle.

My dead eyes met his dangerous gaze head-on.

Not only did I refuse to flinch—I closed the distance myself, letting my warm breath fall against his throat.

"If Mr. Finley is brave enough to take in a feral cat, isn't he worried I'll tear his throat out?"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth. The movement pulled at the bruise on my cheek.

"Lend me your power. I'm taking back the East District."

A low laugh rumbled from Christian's throat.

He wasn't angry. Not even close. Those long fingers traced down my neck, then wrenched open the thin collar of my prison uniform in one sharp motion.

The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the sealed cabin.

His gaze darkened as it traveled over the scars scattered across my collarbone and abdomen—souvenirs from prison. Carved into me by people Dennis's rivals had paid off to deliver their revenge.

I'd nearly had my uterus ruptured during a beating that lasted three hours.

"All right. I'll give you everything you want."

Christian pressed his fingers down hard on a wound that hadn't yet healed.

Agony ripped through me. My whole body convulsed, cold sweat soaking through to my spine in an instant.

But he leaned into my ear, his voice tender, his words merciless.

"In return, from this moment on—your life, your bloodline, even every single breath you take—belongs to me."

I bit down on my lower lip so hard it split, swallowing the pain whole.

"Deal."

The Maybach climbed the hillside and pulled through the gates of the Finley estate.

This was the vantage point that overlooked the entire Capital—and the gilded cage Christian Finley had built just for me.

The car door opened. Two rows of bodyguards in black stood at perfect ninety-degree bows.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Finley."

Their voices rang out in unison, echoing across the grounds.

I dragged my battered body onto the red carpet. Every step sent a tearing pain ripping through my abdomen.

Christian didn't offer a hand. He watched me struggle with the detached interest of a man observing something beneath him.

That was when my old phone buzzed.

Dennis had slipped it to me through someone before my release—a lifeline, he'd called it. The screen lit up with his name. Now, the sight of it was nothing but a sick joke.

Christian raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to answer.

I hit the green button and put it on speaker.

"Margot! Let me explain!"

Dennis's voice burst through, frantic and ragged.

"Nellie is just a pawn I'm using to keep the rival syndicate in check! Once she has the baby, I'll get rid of her!"

I let out a cold laugh, staring at the dried blood still caked under my fingernails.

"Your pawn is carrying your child and gunning for my seat. What do you take me for, Dennis? Your garbage collector?"

"Don't be reckless and marry that lunatic Finley! He'll destroy you! Where are you? I'm sending people right now—"

He was still trying to work me with that nauseating silver tongue of his.

"You've got a record now, so just let Nellie have the title. But I swear, you're the only one in my heart!"

Christian stepped up behind me. Cold lips pressed against the side of my neck, and he let out a slow, deliberate sound—a wet, suggestive pull of skin that was impossible to misinterpret.

I lowered my lashes. My voice came out laced with contempt.

"Stop calling, Dennis. You make me sick."

The line went dead.

Christian's arms slid around my waist from behind, his burning chest flush against my spine.

"Can't handle it already?"

His long fingers caught a strand of my damp hair and lifted it, his tone dripping with undisguised mockery.

"Your old flame seems pretty convinced you'll crawl back to him like a dog."

I ignored the provocation and closed my eyes.

Five years of hell behind bars had ground my dignity and expectations down to dust.

"Get me a doctor. I need to recover as fast as possible."

I opened my eyes and pulled free from his hold, sweeping a cool gaze across the sprawling estate.

"In three days, at the syndicate summit, I'm going to take back what's mine. Personally."

Christian's eyes narrowed. A thin, derisive smile pressed across his lips.

Then his hand shot out and clamped around the back of my neck, forcing my face upward to meet his.

"Know your place, Margot. You're a toy I paid a fortune for. You don't get to give me orders."

His grip was crushing. The vertebrae in my neck—barely healed—crackled under the pressure.

Tears welled from sheer physical reflex, pooling at the rims of my eyes. I forced every last one of them back.

"Even a toy needs claws if it's going to tear apart prey for its master. Wouldn't you agree?"

I held his stare, a twisted smile curling at the corner of my mouth.

Christian studied me for several long seconds. Then he released his grip and let out a quiet laugh.

"Good. I look forward to the show. Don't disappoint me—or I'll throw you right back into that kennel."

For the next three days, I was confined to the top floor of the estate.

A private medical team stood on call around the clock, pumping expensive drugs into my broken body to piece it back together.

Every night, the old wound in my abdomen flared up, the pain so vicious it sent me writhing across the bed.

Christian sat on the sofa not far away, swirling a glass of red wine, watching with cold detachment.

He never offered an ounce of sympathy. Only when I was on the verge of passing out from the agony did he toss out a single, frigid line.

"Remember this pain. It's the price of your stupidity."

On the morning of the third day, the butler delivered a pure black couture trench coat.

I stood before the floor-length mirror, staring at the woman reflected back at me. Pale face. Vicious eyes.

When I changed and came downstairs, Christian was sitting in the dining room, flipping through the morning paper.

"Ready?"

He didn't bother looking up. His tone was offhand, almost bored.

"Let's go."

I pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, hiding the ugly constellation of cigarette burns across the backs of my hands.

The motorcade headed toward the East District. The territory I'd once bled to claim.

Inside the car, Christian handed me a file.

"Have a look. A little appetizer from your dear lover."

My expression didn't change as I opened the folder. Then my pupils contracted sharply.

Inside was a stack of high-resolution photographs.

In them, Tyler Briggs, my most capable enforcer, was being pinned facedown in the mud by several men and beaten.

His legs had been broken. They bent at sickening, unnatural angles.

And standing off to the side, watching with cool indifference, was Dennis's new woman. Nellie Fox.

"Dennis froze every single one of your old Syndicate accounts. Put the word out, too. Anyone who dares follow you gets the same treatment as that cripple."

Christian leaned back against his seat, amusement flickering in his voice.

"Ms. Delgado, you're a general without an army. How exactly do you plan to deal with this rabid dog?"

My fingers crushed the edge of the photograph.

The savage fury I'd been forcing down in my chest was clawing its way loose.

Dennis. You manage to disgust me more every single time.

"Mr. Finley needn't concern himself."

I tore the photographs to pieces, slowly, deliberately, and let the fragments scatter across the cabin.

"When dealing with a rabid dog, you just knock its teeth out."

The main hall of the East District Syndicate was buzzing today.

The heavy mahogany doors stood wide open. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Dozens of chapter bosses and elders sat along both sides of the hall, arranged by rank and seniority.

The moment I stepped through the doors, the noise died.

Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me.

In the seat of power at the head of the hall sat not Dennis.

It was Nellie Fox, draped in a designer Chanel suit, belly swollen and on full display.

Dennis stood faithfully at her side, one hand hovering protectively over her waist.

When he saw me, something flickered in his eyes. Instinct pulled him forward a step.

Then he glanced at Christian behind me and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Margot, you're finally here."

Nellie was the first to break the silence, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness, so saccharine it could rot teeth.

"Dennis said you weren't feeling well, so he asked me to host today's handover ceremony on your behalf. You won't blame me for overstepping, will you?"

As she spoke, she made a show of stroking her belly. The provocation couldn't have been more blatant.

I didn't spare her a glance. I walked straight to the center of the hall, my gaze cutting across every elder seated along the sides.

These men. Every last one of them used to trail behind me, calling me their queen.

And now they sat here, watching in silence while some bed-climbing nobody perched in my chair and lorded it over them.

"Dennis. Where is my man?"

I ignored Nellie entirely and went straight for him.

Dennis couldn't meet my eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Margot, Tyler didn't know his place. He disrespected Nellie. I just had someone teach him a small lesson."