Isla Calloway stood in the center of her father’s office.
No—her office now.
The room still smelled like him—cigars, aged whiskey, and power.
The mahogany desk, the towering bookshelves, the crystal decanter filled with dark liquor—it was all exactly as he left it.
Except for the blood.
Except for the fact that he was dead.
And now?
Now the empire he had built—the empire that once ruled this city from the shadows—belonged to her.
She should have felt victorious.
Instead?
She felt the crushing weight of the crown she never wanted.
Outside, the city was shifting.
Her father’s death had sent a shockwave through the underworld.
Some saw it as a power vacuum.
Others saw it as an opportunity.
And Isla?
She saw it as the beginning of war.
Marcus entered the office, his expression
