I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the polished oak surface of the table. Around me, my most trusted men were gathered, their voices low but purposeful as they dissected the logistics of our next operation. Maps, diagrams, and notes littered the table, the scent of fine leather and cigar smoke thick in the air. It was just another day as the head of the most powerful syndicate in the city.

And then she walked in.

The double doors slammed against the walls with a force that made every man in the room flinch. My jaw clenched instinctively, but when I saw who stood there, I had to bite back a grin. My wife. Fiery, beautiful, and, at the moment, absolutely furious.

Her eyes darted around the room, quickly taking in the heavy atmosphere and the serious faces of my men.

"I'll come back later," she muttered, already backing toward the door.

I was on my feet before she could retreat. "No, darling," I said smoothly, my voice cutting through the murmurs of my men. "You're staying."

I turned to my crew, my tone dropping an octave. "You lot, out."

There was a beat of stunned silence before the protests began.

"But, boss—"

"We're right in the middle of—"

"I said out," I repeated, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel. "My wife needs me. I SAID OUT."

The authority in my voice was undeniable, and they knew better than to test my patience. Chairs scraped against the floor as they scrambled to their feet, filing out with a mix of grumbles and sideways glances. The last one closed the door behind him with a hurried click.

Now it was just me and her.

I crossed the room, closing the distance between us. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into that stubborn line I knew all too well. I couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"I saw that look," I teased, brushing a hand over her cheek before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "So, what is it this time, my queen? What great injustice has sparked your fury today?"