The doors slid shut behind Natalia with a whisper of finality, the sound sharp in the thick air of Jaxon’s office. She stood framed against the glass and steel, pale under the dim light, her movements cautious, almost reverent—as though she’d stepped into a cathedral instead of a lion’s den.
Raven’s breath caught. She saw Natalia’s eyes, wide and wary, scanning the room. They lingered on Jaxon. Not a man she barely recognized, not the controlled Don she once knew, but something far more dangerous, a storm wrapped in skin, holding himself together by the barest shred of restraint.
“Sit,” Jaxon ordered, his voice clipped. No warmth. No civility. Just command.
Natalia hesitated, glancing between him and Raven as if seeking some softer refuge. None came. Viktor remained in the corner, arms
