His Father, My Lover

Chapter 1.

Chapter 1: The Throne I Stole

The New York skyline glitters like a blade in the night, all sharp edges and cold promise. I stand at the edge of my penthouse balcony, forty stories above the city I’ve clawed my way to own. The wind tugs at my hair, pulling strands loose from the tight ponytail I’ve worn all day. My leather jacket creaks as I lean forward, gripping the railing, the metal cool against my palms. Below, Manhattan pulses car horns, distant shouts, the heartbeat of a city that never sleeps. Two years ago, I was just Juliette Black, Nico Romanov’s fiancée, arm candy for the heir to a mafia empire. Now? I’m the Black Widow, queen of his territory, and tonight, I’m about to face the devil himself.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a sharp vibration that snaps me out of my thoughts. I fish it out, the screen glowing with a single name: Rafael. Don Rafael Romanov, Nico’s father, the man who built this empire with blood and fear. I haven’t seen him in months, not since I took over Nico’s operations after he vanished. The message is short: My place. Midnight. Don’t keep me waiting. No pleasantries, no explanations. Just a command. My stomach twists, not with fear never fear but with the kind of thrill you get when you know a game’s about to start.

I glance at my watch. 11:15 p.m. Time to move.

The drive to Rafael’s Upper East Side mansion is a blur of neon and shadow. My driver, Tommy, keeps his eyes on the road, his knuckles white on the wheel. He’s loyal, one of the few I trust, but even he’s nervous tonight. “You sure about this, boss?” he asks, voice low, as we pull up to the iron gates. They loom like something out of a gothic novel, all spikes and menace.

“Since when do I do unsure, Tommy?” I shoot back, flashing a grin that doesn’t reach my eyes. He chuckles, but it’s forced. He knows what’s at stake. Rafael doesn’t summon people for tea and small talk. He wants something, and I’m betting it’s my head or my empire.

The gates creak open, and we roll up the long driveway. The mansion is a beast of stone and glass, lit up like it’s daring the world to take a swing. I step out, my boots clicking on the cobblestones, and adjust the knife strapped to my thigh under my skirt. It’s a habit, like checking my lipstick. You don’t walk into a lion’s den without claws.

A butler some guy with a face like a funeral leads me through marble halls to a study that smells of leather and cigar smoke. Rafael’s behind a mahogany desk, his back to me, staring out a floor-to-ceiling window. His silhouette is sharp, all broad shoulders and tailored charcoal suit. Even from here, he radiates power, the kind that makes men kneel and women forget their names.

“Juliette,” he says without turning, his voice smooth as velvet, deep enough to make my skin prickle. “You’ve been busy.”

I don’t sit, though there’s a chair waiting. Sitting feels like surrender. “You didn’t call me here to talk about my work ethic, Rafael.”

He turns then, and damn, he’s still a shock to the system. Silver streaks his dark hair, and his gray eyes lock onto mine like they’re peeling me apart. He’s fifty-two, but time’s been kind or maybe he just scares it into submission. A slow smile curves his lips, and I hate how it makes my pulse jump.

“Straight to the point. I like that.” He steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint cedar of his cologne. “You’ve done well, taking Nico’s place. Better than he ever did.”

The mention of Nico stings, a quick jab to the chest. I shove it down. “Nico’s gone. I’m here. What do you want?”

He gestures to the chair now, but I stay standing, arms crossed. His smile widens, like he’s enjoying the defiance. “Sit, Juliette. We’re going to talk business.”

I roll my eyes but drop into the chair, crossing one leg over the other, letting my skirt ride up just enough to remind him I’m not intimidated. “Talk fast. I’ve got a city to run.”

Rafael leans against the desk, close enough that his knee brushes mine. It’s deliberate, and I don’t flinch. “You’ve got nerve,” he says, almost to himself. “That’s why I’m here. You’ve built something impressive, but it’s still my son’s empire. My blood.”

My jaw tightens. “Your son left. I didn’t. I kept it alive kept your name alive. You’re welcome.”

His laugh is low, dangerous. “Oh, I’m grateful. But gratitude doesn’t keep empires standing. Alliances do.” He pauses, eyes boring into mine. “Marry me, Juliette.”

The words hit like a gunshot. I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs. “What?”

“You heard me.” He straightens, looming over me now, all calm menace. “Marry me, and we merge our power. You keep your territory, your men, your name. Refuse, and the Petrovs will eat you alive. They’re already circling.”

My mind races. The Petrovs rival mafia dogs have been sniffing around my warehouses, testing my defenses. Rafael’s offering protection, but it’s a leash, not a lifeline. I lean forward, matching his intensity. “You think I need you to fight my battles? I’ve been holding off the Petrovs for months.”

“You have,” he concedes, his voice softening, almost intimate. “But for how long? You’re one woman against an army. With me, you’re untouchable.”

I stand, closing the distance between us, my face inches from his. “And what’s in it for you, Rafael? You don’t strike me as the marrying type.”

His eyes darken, and for a second, I see something raw, something hungry. “You,” he says simply. “I want you.”

My breath catches, and I hate myself for it. This isn’t just about power. It’s personal, and that makes it dangerous. I step back, needing space to think. “You want me to trade one Romanov for another? That’s your big plan?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Nico’s gone. You’re not his anymore. You’re mine if you’re smart enough to see it.”

The room feels too small, the air too thick. I turn away, pacing to the window, staring at the city to ground myself. “And if I say no?”

“Then you’re on your own,” he says, voice like ice. “And you won’t last the month.”

I spin back, anger flaring. “Don’t threaten me, Rafael. I’ve buried men for less.”

He moves faster than I expect, closing the gap, his hand catching my wrist not hard, but firm. “I’m not threatening you, Juliette. I’m offering you the world. Take it, or lose everything.”

I yank my wrist free, my skin burning where he touched me. “I don’t kneel for anyone,” I snap. “Not even you.”

His smile returns, slow and predatory. “We’ll see.”

The rest of the meeting is a blur of veiled threats and power plays. Rafael lays out the terms: a public wedding, a united front, my empire folded into his. I counter with demands of my own control over my operations, no interference. He agrees too easily, which makes me trust him less. By the time I leave, my head’s spinning, but I’m not backing down. I’ve fought too hard to let some silver-fox mob boss clip my wings.

Back in my penthouse, I pour a whiskey and sink into the couch, replaying every word. Rafael’s playing a game, but so am I. Marrying him could buy me time, maybe even answers about Nico. I still don’t know why he left, where he went. Part of me the stupid, soft part still aches for him. But that part’s buried deep, and I’m not digging it up tonight.

My phone pings again. Another message, this time from an unknown number. My gut twists as I open it: You’re sitting on a stolen throne, Juliette. I’m coming for it.

The whiskey glass slips from my hand, shattering on the floor. My heart pounds as I read the message again, the words searing into my brain. Only one person would call my empire a stolen throne. Only one person would have the nerve.

Nico.

I’m halfway to the door, grabbing my gun from the safe, when the lights flicker. A low hum fills the air, like the building itself is holding its breath. Then, from the shadows of my balcony, a figure steps into view tall, scarred, eyes burning with a fury I know too well.

“Miss me, Jules?” Nico says, his voice a knife in the dark.