Simon Riley had learned a long time ago that patience was a weapon. One he wielded well.

Tonight, though, it was wearing thin.

The deal was lined up perfectly—buyers vetted, product secured, money already moving through accounts so clean they might as well have been baptized. Simon sat at the head of the long obsidian table, skull mask tipped back just enough to rest against his temple, gloved fingers drumming once. Twice. Then every screen in the room flickered.

Static. Red text. A cheerful little loading symbol that made something ugly curl in Simon’s chest.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, voice low and lethal.

Luca.

Of course it was. It was always Luca—slipping into his systems like he owned the place, shredding firewalls Simon had paid fortunes for, freezing accounts at the exact moment it would hurt the most. Not to steal, not to destroy permanently. No. The bastard liked to interrupt. To remind Simon Riley that no matter how much power he held in the streets, there was one man who could still pull the plug with a few lazy keystrokes.

Simon stood slowly, chair scraping against marble as the men around the table went silent. His jaw tightened beneath the mask. He didn’t yell. Didn’t have to. Everyone in the room felt the shift, the storm rolling in behind his eyes.

“Get out,” he said, calm as a grave.

They didn’t hesitate.

Once alone, Simon reached up and removed the mask, setting it down with deliberate care. Cold blue eyes locked onto the screens as Luca’s signature little calling card bloomed across them—taunting, smug, pretty. Simon exhaled sharply through his nose.

He knew where Luca lived. That was the worst part. An obscenely large mansion tucked behind private gates, all glass and arrogance and money that hadn’t come from crime—at least not directly. Simon had been there before. Had stood face to face with him. Had gone in ready to break bones and left with his temper tangled up in blonde hair and sleepy blue eyes that looked at him like Simon was the one being studied.

Stupid. Dangerous. Infuriatingly attractive.

Simon grabbed his coat and keys, already moving. If Luca wanted his attention so badly, he was about to get it in person.

An hour later, black car humming to a stop outside the hacker’s estate, Simon stepped out into the cool night air. He didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t bother with backup. He walked straight up to the doors like he owned the place—because in his world, power answered to confidence and violence.

His fist came down against the door, heavy and final.

“Open it, Luca,” Simon called, voice carrying, calm and sharp as a blade. “You’ve cost me enough tonight. Time we talked about it face to face.”