Page 70 of Nocturne

My cheeks burn. “What? No! I mean… if you want to. It’s not for him specifically—just… take it.”

His low chuckle fills the room. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

After ruffling my hair, he leaves. Ivy grins, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

“You’re never living that down,” she quips.

That night, even after sending a message to Sean and accepting his request, it was Zagan I couldn’t stop thinking about. The kiss. His scent. The overwhelming power he radiates. Every time I push the thoughts away, they creep back.

My phone buzzes.

Eero:

Boss stole my food and he won’t give it back!

Despite myself, I smile at the message. The tension eases, and finally, I close my eyes, letting sleep take me.

Eighteen

Zagan

Meetings aren't my preference, but as head of the mob, there are certain ones I can’t avoid. The kind where the overconfident need a reminder of who holds the power.

Watching Mitchell Berrett sweat under the weight of my glare, I’m reminded of the importance of these encounters. Men like him think that brute force alone took the throne, that I’m a beast with no mind for strategy.

They’re wrong. I don’t rely on force alone—I know when to use it and when to let everything else fall into place.

Mitchell Berrett, the frontrunner for Prime Minister, is exactly the type I need on my leash. He wants his victory, and he knows he’ll need my money and reach to get it. His win is practically decided, and he worries about the Cruxis situation. A matter that, according to him, is going to affect the elections. And probably also his plan about his big reveal—some underhanded deal of his opponent’s that he plans to expose right before the elections.

He’s nervous, repeats himself, and I’ve barely said anything.

“This is going to be a problem,” he mutters again.

“Yes,” I say simply, watching him squirm.

The rouge assassins roaming in the city this close to the election might be a problem, but it’s not one without a solution.

Mitchell pleads, not outright, but the strain in his voice is obvious. “Can the search for Cruxis wait until after the election?”

He’s got his son, Burke, with him, watching this little performance. He wants to appear strong, not like a man who’s afraid of me. It takes effort not to crush his feeble facade here and now. But Iblis is in the room, the fucker would complain about this for a few more months until I am tempted to shoot his kneecaps. I have to risk attendingallthe fucking meetings myself. So, I grit my teeth and give Berrett the nod he’s looking for.

Not that I need his permission for anything. The search for Cruxis assassins is already in motion, and Nico should be arriving with an update any minute now.

Mitchell checks his watch before answering a call with a clipped, “I’m on my way.”

A call from his mistress, no doubt—the one he sneaks off to while his wife drums up votes. If she knew, her powerful family would bury him without a second thought. I could ruin him if I wanted, but for now, he’s on a tight leash.

When he leaves, he tries to hand off the meeting to his son, Burke, who gives me an arrogant smirk—strained but still there. The boy’s arrogance is built on an untouchable life, one where he’s never known real fear. A spoiled brat to the core. Someone I despise with everything inside me.

“So, Burke, what do you think we should do about this infiltration?” Iblis drawls, his words dripping with mockery.

Burke frowns, obviously out of his depth but trying to mask it.

“As Dad said, we should keep it quiet until after the elections. Then we’ll take care of it.” His answer is empty.

I resist the urge to snap at his stupidity. He has nothing to back up that cockiness. Nothing but a last name. Iblis, ever the provocateur, leans in, pressing Burke.

“What if they decide to bring chaos now? What if they align with people against your father? What if they target CEOs or politicians to crash the economy?”

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