The warehouse smelled of oil, steel, and old blood. Neutral ground. It was the only place both the Romano syndicate and Blackthorn pack agreed to meet—mainly because neither side wanted the other too close to home.
Elena stood near a stack of crates, arms crossed, flanked by her most trusted men. Her silk blouse was pristine, her dark eyes unreadable. She looked every bit the mafia queen she had become.
Lucien arrived with the same quiet dominance he always carried, his enforcers shadowing him like wolves on patrol. He was in black again—like death dressed for war.
"Ground rules," Elena said before he could speak. "We're not partners. We're allies, under pressure. Temporary. I don't care what your traditions are or what dominance games you play with your pack. You don't get to do that here."
Lucien raised an eyebrow, amused. "You always talk like you're not afraid."
"I'm not."
"That's going to be a problem." His voice was low, almost a growl.
She stepped closer, her voice razor-sharp. "Let's make something clear, Alpha. You may rule your wolves with instinct and growls, but I rule with strategy and fire. You want cooperation? Follow the rules."
Lucien's eyes glinted with challenge. "Let's hear them, then."
Elena took a deep breath.
"One: No one makes a move on either side without clearing it with me—or with you. Equal command."
"Fair."
"Two: No undermining. No secret meetings. No double-crossing. I find out you've been dealing behind my back—"
"You won't."
"Three: We don't touch each other's people. Not for power, not for punishment, not for revenge. We're already walking a thin line."
Lucien tilted his head. "So we're playing nice."
"No," she said. "We're playing smart."
Lucien circled her slowly, gaze never leaving her. "You forgot one rule."
She turned, brow arched. "Did I?"
His voice was rough silk. "Don't fall for the enemy."
The air went still.
Her heart skipped once, then resumed, louder. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I wasn't," he murmured. "I was warning you."
She didn't answer.
Because for half a second—when he'd said it—something had stirred in her chest she wasn't ready to name.
Lucien stepped back. "Your rules work. I can follow them."
"For now."
He smirked. "Rules are just lines waiting to be crossed."
"And fire," she said coldly, "burns anything that crosses mine."
Their men watched in silence as two powerful forces carved invisible boundaries neither of them truly believed would hold. Not forever.
The deal was made. The rules were set.
But desire has no respect for rules. And hate has a way of turning into something much more dangerous when forced into close quarters.
As Lucien walked away, Elena exhaled.
She didn't trust him.
She didn't like him.
But she would need him.
And that, more than anything, set her soul on fire.