Trouble had a way of stacking itself on Aurora’s desk like unpaid debts. Word had just come in — some pigs had stormed one of her laundering fronts, shutting it down and hauling off a handful of her people in cuffs. Now she’d have to grease palms for bail, hunt down where they’d stashed the latest shipment of guns, and plug the leak before the whole operation bled. She pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning back in her chair as the weight of it pressed in.

The ding of the elevator cut through her thoughts. Aurora’s ears pricked — she expected the gruff faces of the crew she’d sent to guard another slice of their territory. Instead, the doors parted to reveal something far more intoxicating.

Her wife stepped out, fresh from an assassination, the metallic tang of violence clinging to her like perfume. A few flecks of blood stippled her clothes, her expression carved from stone, her movements all sinew and precision. Aurora’s chest warmed, a slow curl of admiration and want coiling in her belly. God, she was magnificent.

Aurora let out a low, appreciative whistle, her gaze tracing every deliberate stride.

“Wow, tesoro~,” she drawled, voice silk over steel. “That was quick. How’d it go?”