Vespera Vance's new apartment? It was thirty-five square meters of pure chaos monitors flickering in the dark, drone parts tangled like spaghetti, and enough mismatched furniture to make a thrift store weep. She lived on the third floor of a half-collapsed building in a part of town the city had clearly given up on.

It was five in the morning, and Vesper was pacing her living room, brandishing a permanent marker like it could ward off debt or ghosts. She was scrawling a monster list of "House Rules" on a whiteboard that took up half the wall.

"Rule number one," she declared, swinging her marker at Lysander, who barely fit on her two-seater faux-leather sofa. His legs stuck out, almost stretching from one wall to the other. With his brooding model looks, he didn't belong here at all not with all her glowing tech cluttering up the space. "No bringing your sketchy, debt-collecting friends over. Rule number two: We have boundaries. You sleep on the futon. Rule number three: If you see organic, imported lavender honey in the fridge, do not touch it. It's eighty dollars. That honey is the only thing keeping me alive."

Lysander picked up a little plastic cyberpunk robot from her coffee table, weighing it in his mitts. "Eighty bucks for honey? And I'm the one with money problems?"

"It's essential for brain function," Vesper snapped, her cheeks turning pink. "Anyway, the digital marriage paperwork's done. Signed at the all-night courthouse kiosk. The system processed it I'm Vesper Thorne now, legally. My uncles' tracking bots just crashed into a giant legal firewall."

"Congratulations, Mrs. Thorne," Lysander said. He had this smooth, quiet irony in his voice, but Vesper missed it entirely.

Before she could hammer out Rule Number Four, someone started pounding on the front door. Not knocking: pounding. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The noise was so bad, a pile of tech manuals slid off a shelf and hit the floor.

Vesper froze. The marker clattered from her hand. "Oh god. They found me. They're here. They're going to haul me off to the steel magnate."

Lysander didn't even blink. He stood up slow, eyes narrowing into icy slits. The vibe changed fast one second harmless night watchman, the next, kingpin with blood on his hands. He put himself between Vesper and the door.

"Stay behind me," he said, voice absolute, heavy. Vesper nodded, stepping back without even realizing it.

He strode over and checked the peephole. His shoulders tensedbut only for a second-before he just looked annoyed. He unlocked the deadbolt and flung the door open.

A mountain stood in the hallway, squeezed into an expensive charcoal Italian suit. Six-foot-five, built like a bank vault, with a vicious scar slashing from eyebrow to jaw. In his giant hands he carriedcarefully a gleaming La Marzocco espresso machine.

Nikolai. Thorne Syndicate's top underboss.

"Boss!" Nikolai boomed. His voice shook the actual floor. He started bowing. "The intelligence team confirmed your new address. I brought your preferred espresso machine to make you comfortable during this undercover"

Lysander shoved his hand into Nikolai's chest, cutting off the bow. Behind his back, out of Vesper's sight, he made a slashing motion across his neck-shut it. Right now.

Nikolai just stopped, completely lost. Then he spotted Vesper crouched behind a bookshelf, gripping a butter knife like she actually knew how to use it.

"Who...who is the tiny hostile civilian, Boss?" Nikolai rumbled, hand drifting toward the gun hidden in his jacket.

"Nikolai, stand down," Lysander jumped in, voice suddenly smooth, smile a little too plastic. He took the espresso machine from Nikolai, balancing it like it weighed nothing. "Vesper, sweetheart, it's fine. This is uh Nikolai. He's my aggressive, highly corporate bookie."

Vesper gasped. She stepped out, knife still up, eyes blazing. "Your bookie!? The guy you owe money to? I knew it! Look at him, Lysander! He's got a three-thousand-dollar suit and a knife scar! He's here to break your kneecaps!"

Nikolai's jaw just about hit the floor. He looked between Lysander and Vesper like his brain couldn't process what he was seeing. Bookie? Kneecaps? Did she just say Don Thorne owed money?

"Listen here, you oversized loan shark!" Vesper marched forward, brandishing her butter knife at Nikolai's chest. "Lysander is under my protection now-I'm his official financial sponsor! Yeah, he owes your organization a lot, but we just signed a legal contract! I'll wire your company ten thousand dollars by noon as a good-faith payment, so take your fancy coffee machine and get out!"

Nikolai stared at her, then at Lysander.

Lysander had his face in his hand, silently cracking up, shoulders shaking with laughter. A tiny nod told Nikolai: Play along, or suffer.

Nikolai cleared his throat-struggling not to lose it completely. "Uh...yes. Ten thousand dollars is an acceptable primary payment, ma'am. The...Thorne Loan Corporation accepts these terms. I'll-leave the espresso machine as collateral."

"Good," Vesper said, chest puffed out just a little. "Now go, before I hack your billing system and wipe your entire database!"

Nikolai, who'd killed rival mobsters without blinking, actually flinched at that. He shot Lysander a desperate look, nodded, and got out-closing the door quietly behind him.

Vesper finally dropped the butter knife, sighing hard. She turned to Lysander, eyes wide with pride. "See? Saved your kneecaps. You're lucky you married a billionaire tech gremlin."

"I am seriously indebted to you, wife," Lysander said, setting the espresso machine on the kitchen counter, grinning with something like real affection. "You're terrifying. With a butter knife."

"Damn right," Vesper yawned, sleep finally hitting her like a truck. She staggered toward her bedroom. "I'm crashing for three hours. Don't touch the honey. And no more bookies."

"Sleep well, Vesper," Lysander replied.

Her door shut. Instantly, everything changed. Lysander's gentle act melted away. No security-guard warmth just the cold, razor-edged Don Thorne again.

He took out a military-grade burner phone, dialing a secure line. Nikolai answered on the first ring.

"Boss," Nikolai said, all business now. "Marcone cartel's sent an extraction unit. Looks like the Vance family hired them they're tracking your sector now, looking for the runaway heiress."

Lysander stood at the window, dark rain streaking the glass. He glanced back at Vesper's door, and a cold, satisfied smile crept across his lips.

"A specialized team in my city hunting my wife," Lysander said softly, his voice the kind of whisper that makes men run. "Deploy the elite guard team now. Find the extraction squad. Erase them."

"And the Vance family, Don Thorne?" Nikolai asked.

Lysander's silver eyes burned in the dark. "If they even breathe in her direction burn their whole empire down. Nobody touches what's mine."