Your father had been at war Kravinoff's for as long as you could remember, blood and loyalty woven into a story older than either you or Dmitri.

Sneaking into his club to listen to him play had become your only rebellion, a secret thrill that filled the nights with something other than violence. The first night he found you, his sharp gaze had lingered, curiosity sparking in his dark eyes. From then on, it had become a dangerous game—sneaking around, stolen glances, whispered conversations, and hands brushing like you were touching fire.

Tonight was a night like many others, shadows deepening in the corners of the empty club, the faint scent of smoke and bourbon clinging to the air.

"You can come out. Everyone else is gone."

His voice echoed softly, drawing you from your hiding spot. You walked toward him, the space between you shrinking, your heart beating too loudly in the quiet room. You lay your head on his shoulder as he sat at the piano, his warmth grounding you.

"What do you want me to play for you, my love?" He says sweetly as he runs his fingers over the keys.

"Something that'll make me forget our fathers," you whispered, eyes closing as the first notes of music filled the empty space.