The club throbbed with low rhythmic bass, the sort that lodged deep in the bones and left the air crackling with electricity. In low, red lights, men in well-tailored suits moved with deadly grace, their words tangled with power manipulations and silent threats.

Adrian Moretti observed them from the VIP balcony, his gloved hands absentmindedly rolling a cigar between them. He didn't like smoking, never had, but it was an old habit. It was one of the few things that occupied his hands when he was cornered into public appearances such as this.

The club, Inferno, was his. Or to be more accurate, the Moretti family's. But everyone understood his father Vito Moretti had long since delegated the nitty-gritty of business to Adrian. The old man remained the patriarch of the family, but Adrian was the one people feared, the one who made the rules stick with precision and viciousness.

Tonight, though wasn't about his family's empire. Tonight, he waited for him.

Nikolai Volkov.

Adrian's jaw clamped hard at the prospect.

A goddamn Volkov.

He hadn't laid eyes on the Russian in more than a year, not since their last meeting in a Monaco casino, where they had sat seething in a wordless war of domination over a single high-roller poker table. Nikolai had taken the first hand and Adrian had taken the last. They had split with nothing but looks that could have cut glass.

They weren't friends. They weren't even partners. But there was someone trying to move against both their families and they shared a common enemy for the first time.

Footsteps coming his way jarred Adrian out of his reverie. A man in a black suit entered the private booth, speaking softly in his ear.

"He's here."

Adrian did not respond, he merely took one final leisurely roll of the cigar before he set it on the table next to his full glass of whiskey.

"Bring him up."

The pause hung, strain coiling tight around the air, until he finally heard it measured, confident steps climbing the stairs.

Then the door creaked open and there he was.

Nikolai Volkov.

Dressed in a dark navy suit, his blond hair tousled just enough to suggest he didn’t give a damn, Nikolai carried himself with the same careless arrogance that had always made Adrian want to put a bullet through his skull.

His piercing blue eyes scanned the room before settling on Adrian with a smirk.

“Moretti,” he greeted, voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

Adrian didn't stand up. Didn't extend a hand. Instead, he leaned back, placing his arms on the leather booth. "Volkov."

Nikolai's grin grew. "No drink for me? I'm insulted."

Adrian breathed deeply, looking at the untouched whiskey on the table. "Didn't know if you were still alive to have one."

Nikolai laughed, moving deeper into the room, his movements slow. "You wound me. Although I suppose I should be complimented. That means you were considering me for once."

Adrian didn't so much as blink, but a part of his chest constricted. That was the issue with Nikolai he enjoyed pushing, enjoyed poking at the limits of Adrian's composure just to see if he could get him to break.

"Sit down," Adrian commanded.

For a moment, Nikolai did not stir. A silent standoff. Two men who would not surrender to anything, not even something as mundane as a request.

Then, with measured languid ease, Nikolai sat down in front of him, legs splayed wide, his posture just as commanding as Adrian's.

"So," Nikolai remarked, steepling his fingers. "What do we do about our little… problem?"

Adrian let the tension simmer a second longer before speaking. “Someone’s moving against both our families.”

“I’m aware.”

“And yet you’re still standing,” Adrian said smoothly. “That surprises me.”

Nikolai’s grin sharpened. “Disappointed?”

Adrian didn’t answer. He reached for his whiskey, taking a slow sip. “I want names. Information. Your people must have something.”

Nikolai’s gaze flickered, assessing. “You think I’ll just hand that over?”

"I believe you'll do what you have to do," Adrian told him. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to wait until this faceless foe kills you before I do."

Nikolai laughed once more, but this time there was an edge to it. "You've always been witty, Moretti."

Adrian nodded his head. "And you've always been an ass. So come on, what do you know?"

Nikolai remained silent for a moment. Then he inched forward, the air between them constricting.

"Enough to know it's more than business," he told Adrian. "Whoever they are, they're not after just the organizations. They're after us."

Adrian's hand froze against the glass.

"They're not after destroying our families," Nikolai went on. "They want us killed."

The tension between the two men built, the air heavy with unspoken things.

Adrian had guessed it. But to hear it aloud made something hard in his stomach solidify.

He and Nikolai weren't fighting their enemy.

They were the enemy.

And the only way to survive was to cooperate.

Even if that meant standing shoulder to shoulder with the one man he'd never permit himself to trust.

Or worse standing too close to the one man who'd ever been able to push back against him.

And not wishing to leave...

The silence between them grew heavy with tension. Outside the glass paneled balcony inferno vibrated with life. Music thudding, voices intertwining with the air like smoke. But, here in this isolated space there was only the gravity of two men who had spent years circling each other like predators.

Adrian Moretti had never trusted Nikolai Volkov.

And Nikolai had never provided him with a reason in the first place.

But now they have to set aside their distrust and work together. Their lives depended on it.

Adrian exhaled slowly and set his whiskey glass down with a clink. “Who else knows?”

Nikolai tilted his head slightly, considering the question. “No one outside my circle.”

“Which means what? Half the fucking bratva?”

Nikolai smirked. “I’m more selective than that, Moretti.”

Adrian looked at him absorbing the coolness in his stance and the way he rested back on the leather seat as if this was only another game for him. But Adrian wasn't an idiot, he knew the expression of a man who had already been playing chess for hours even before the opponent realized they were on the board.

"What have you got?" Adrian asked. His fingers drumming against the table.

Nikolai sighed, finally yielding. “A name. Or part of one.”

Adrian arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”

"Lazarov. Ring any bells?”

Adrian’s jaw clenched. It did.

Lazarov wasn’t a name,it was a ghost. A whisper from the underworld, a signature left behind when blood was spilled in ways that couldn’t be traced. It wasn’t a man, but a myth, someone people swore didn’t exist.

And yet, bodies always followed.

"Are you sure?" Adrian asked.

Nikolai nodded. "My men stopped a shipment last week. It was high quality guns. Not Italian, not Russian-Eastern European imports. And hidden in the manifests, there it was. Lazarov."

Adrian rubbed down his jaw, tension crawling through his shoulders. This was larger than he had estimated.

"And?" he asked.

"And," Nikolai said with an easy smile, "that shipment was intended for you."

Adrian froze.

"What?"

Nikolai observed him with an unreadable expression. "Your docks. Your men. That cargo was to go into Moretti hands. Instead, it was diverted. And someone wanted you to not find out."

Adrian's pulse thudded against his temple. The fact that someone had been able to divert an entire shipment from under his nose made his blood seethe.

"Who was on the dock?" he asked.

Nikolai leaned in, bracing his forearms on the table. "I'd say that's the question, don't you think? Someone in your household sold you out, Ace."

Adrian ignored how his old nickname rolled off Nikolai's tongue and how it shot a sharp crack of fire down his spine. He wasn't here to play games.

"If someone is pushing against us, why target you?" Adrian asked.

Nikolai's face turned serious. He said, "Because I got too close."

Adrian scowled. "Meaning?"

Nikolai exhaled a slow breath. He glanced at the whiskey bottle before grabbing it and serving himself a glass.

"I had a meeting scheduled," he confessed. "Someone in Budapest had some intel on Lazarov. A place, even. But before I arrived, the whole fucking building burned to the ground."

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "And you think they were expecting you?"

Nikolai chuckled darkly, stirring the amber colored liquid in his glass. "Oh, I'm sure they did. Because the only other man who was aware of the meeting was dead before I ever set foot in Hungary."

Adrian's thoughts were racing ahead, putting the pieces together. Whoever was behind this wasn't playing with power ,they were cutting loose ends off before anyone could get too close.

He didn't like it.

Didn't like how far it already went.

Didn't like how the sole man who seemed to be in the know was the one he could never quite rely on.

"So what now?" Nikolai asked, angling his glass toward him.

Adrian released a slow, controlled breath. "We locate Lazarov."

"And then what?"

Adrian's eyes locked with his, cold and unyielding. "We burn him to ashes."

A slow pleased smile curved onto Nikolai's mouth. "Now that's the Moretti I know."

Adrian didn't notice the way his stomach knotted.

This wasn't a partnership. It wasn't trust.

It was survival.

And when it was all over, only one of them would be standing...

The city never slept.

It wasn't just the constant thrum of vehicles or the flashing lights of neon signs that kept it alive. It was the undertow ,the things happening in the dark alleys and in the obscure corners where people's like Adrian Moretti and Nikolai Volkov thrived.

Adrian stood in the shadows of his office looking out at the city skyline through the wide and panoramic windows. It was a habit, one he could not break even on the most darkest of nights. He took in the view as if it contained some sort of solution or some clues to the game he was playing.

His phone vibrated on the desk and successfully broke him out of his reverie. He didn't have to look up to know whose call it was.

"Adrian. We have a problem."

The voice on the other end of the line was smooth and controlled just like everything else in his life.

"Talk," Adrian growled, his voice was low and brusque.

"The shipment. It's missing. Not rerouted lost. The docks are clear. No one knows what happened."

Adrian tightened his hand around the edge of his desk, his heart was pounding. This wasn't a setback anymore. It was sabotage.

"How?"

“They hit the warehouse last night. It was Clean. No bodies. Just a trail of empty crates.”

Adrian’s mind raced calculating the implications. Someone had moved faster than he could. Someone had infiltrated his network someone who knew the ins and outs of the Moretti family.

The silence on the other end of the line was palpable.

“You’re telling me,” Adrian said slowly, “that not a single fucking soul saw anything?”

“Not a whisper.”

"Get a team on it," Adrian barked, his voice icy. "I want answers by tomorrow"

"Understood."

He slammed down the phone. His thoughts already racing, already adding up, already analyzing every lead and every possibilities. The walls of his office seemed to close in on him as the pressure of the situation bore down on his shoulders.

And as suddenly as the tension had built, the door swung open without notice.

And in came Nicolai.

Adrian didn't turn to confront him. "I told you to stay the fuck away until I had something," he said, his voice was strained.

Nikolai stepped in. He was as nonchalant as ever. His icy blue eyes sparkling with the same arrogant smugness that had always irritated Adrian. "Couldn't resist. You look ugly when you're angry".

Adrian swung around, his jaw muscles working as he stared back at Nikolai.

"You're fortunate I don't have time to put a bullet between your eyes."

Nikolai chuckled without a care for the threat.

"Oh, the charm is restored. So what's the lead Ace? What's so big that it's shaken your little universe apart?"

Adrian's eyes flashed with barely repressed fury. "The shipment is missing."

Nikolai arched an eyebrow. "Missing? Missing how?"

"The docks were clean. There was No trace of anything. The entire shipment vanished overnight."

Nikolai moved deeper into the room, looking around as if surveying his territory.

"Someone's getting bold, then."

Adrian clenched his teeth. "Bold, certainly. But brilliant? I don't think so. Someone's after us, and I have no idea who."

Nikolai's eyes narrowed. "You think it's Lazarov?"

Adrian nodded, his eyes narrowing. "It's him or one of his operatives. Either one, it doesn't make a difference because we're being played."

Nikolai slumped back against the doorframe. His arms folded across his chest.

"You don't become this paranoid unless there is someone in your family is involved. Who do you trust, Moretti?"

Adrian did not reply immediately. Instead his mind ran through the names and the faces of the men who were his employees. They were the ones who had been there since the start, the ones who had remained loyal… or at least it was what he believed.

And then there was the Russians. The Volkov name wasn't only infamous it was perilous. But Nikolai… Nikolai wasn't just a Volkov. He was a force of nature.

And Adrian couldn't help but think that in a world such as this one, where betrayal was just as probable to occur from within as from outside. Nikolai might be his sole ally.

"I don't trust anyone," Adrian replied softly, his tone was edged with something sinister.

"But I need your assistance. If we're going to locate Lazarov, we have to act quicker than they anticipate. We have to keep our adversaries off balance."

“Sounds like fun,” Nikolai said with a grin, pushing off from the doorframe. “I’m in. But only because I’m really curious to see who’s going to come crawling out of the woodwork.”

Adrian nodded. “You’ll get your answers. But if anyone fucks with this family,I will make sure to bury them myself.”

“Right.” Nikolai’s smile faded and was replaced by something sharper. “We’ll burn them all.”

The two men stood there in silence. There was an unspoken understanding between them. They weren't friends. They weren't allies in the classic sense. But tonight, at the very least they were on the same team.

At least, for now.

Adrian picked up his phone once more and called his head of security.

"Find everything. Everything about who knew the shipment was coming in. And get me information Lazarov. We're not stopping until we track him down."

The line crackled briefly before a voice responded. It was sharp and urgent.

“Understood. I’ll get to work immediately.”

Adrian hung up. His gaze moving back to Nikolai. “Let’s go. We’ve got a war to start.”

Nikolai stepped closer with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “And who better to start it with than us?”

Adrian did not answer. He gestured for Nikolai to follow instead. As soon as they exited the office the weight of the city pressed down upon both of them.

The streets far below were ablaze in smoky orange and red, alive with danger. But for Adrian and Nikolai, it was but a backdrop to a far greater game.

And both were players. Powerful, merciless, and unstoppable...