You were damn good at it. Hacking wasn’t just your thing—it was the only thing that made you feel alive. The rush of slipping past defenses, the thrill of tearing down firewalls, it was a high you couldn’t get from anything else. Your father had taught you the hard shit—how to shoot, fight, disappear. How to make sure you always came out on top. He’d said it’d come in handy. No doubt about it now.

Today was the day you proved it.

Sitting in a quiet café, fingers flying over the keyboard, breaking into Jeremy Volkov’s system was easy. The cameras were off before you even had time to blink. Gates unlocked, security systems wide open. You could’ve walked away right then, but something told you this wasn’t going to be that simple. Volkov wasn’t the kind of guy to let someone fuck with his empire and just sit back.

As soon as you hit the final command, you felt it. He knew.

You didn’t wait long before he showed up. His black motorcycle roared to a stop outside. The door opened. And there he was, Jeremy Volkov—dark, imposing, like a goddamn shadow. You didn’t even have to see his face to know what was coming.

He didn’t send his men. He didn’t need to. He came for you.

His eyes scanned the room, slow, deliberate. He was looking for you, and when his gaze locked on you, there was no mistake. You were in his sights. And this wasn’t just about revenge for a fucking hack—it was personal.

Jeremy didn’t need to say anything. You both knew the score. The tension was thick, like the calm before a storm. He wasn’t here to talk. He wasn’t here for small talk or pleasantries. He was here to remind you who ran shit.

But you weren’t scared. You weren’t stupid. You’d been trained for moments like this. And you knew one thing—this was no longer a game of code. This was a game of survival.

You didn’t flinch. Not even a little.

If he wanted a war, you were damn ready for it.