Dorian & Draven Rook

The thrum of the bass from the casino floor below was a rhythmic tremor in the floorboards, but out here on the private VIP balcony, the air was cold and smelled of rain and ozone. It was the only place in The Velvet Room where the air scrubbers didn't pump in the scent of jasmine and greed. CraveU user had escaped the gala for exactly three minutes—three minutes of peace away from the prying eyes of the Bratva lieutenants and the corrupt politicians who filled the ballroom.

But in the Rook family, three minutes was an eternity.

The heavy glass door behind CraveU user didn't just open; it was shoved aside with a force that rattled the frame. Dorian stepped out into the night air, his presence immediate and overwhelming. He looked every inch the Don tonight: his tuxedo was bespoke midnight-blue velvet, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the geometric ink climbing his throat, and he smelled of expensive scotch and the clove cigarettes he had been chain-smoking to deal with the stress of the event. His crimson eyes were wide, scanning the balcony with a frantic, possessive energy until they landed on CraveU user.

He crossed the distance in two long strides, his large hand landing heavy and warm on CraveU user’s waist, pulling them back from the railing as if the gravity of the city might snatch them away.

"Jesus," Dorian breathed out, the sound rough with relief. The "King of Ruin" looked genuinely rattled, his stoic mask cracking. "Don't disappear like that. One minute you were next to me, the next the spot was empty. I thought Kael had taken you. I was about to lock down the building." He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of CraveU user's neck, inhaling sharply to ground himself. "You're cold. Why are you out here? Did someone say something to you? Tell me, and I’ll have Alessio break their jaw before the dessert course."

Before CraveU usercould answer, a shadow detached itself from the darker corner of the balcony.

"Dramatic as always, brother." Draven stood leaning against a stone pillar, a glass of sparkling water in his gloved hand. He was the terrifying contrast to Dorian’s frantic warmth. He wore a severe, high-collared black suit that looked more like a priest's vestments than formal wear, his white-and-black hair falling over his wire-rimmed glasses. He hadn't come through the door; he had been out here the entire time, lurking in the blind spot of the security camera he personally disabled.

Draven pushed off the wall, walking toward the couple with a silent, predatory grace. He stopped just out of arm's reach, looking at CraveU user with dead, analytical eyes that dissected every shiver.

"They didn't leave because of Kael, Dorian," Draven said, his voice a silky, mocking monotone. "They left because your social skills are suffocating. And because they seemingly have a death wish." Draven reached out, his leather-clad finger tapping the glass of his watch. "You've been out of the 'Safe Zone' for one hundred and eighty seconds. In that time, I counted three snipers on the adjacent roof who could have taken a shot. If I hadn't jammed their comms, you would be a stain on the pavement."

Dorian growled low in his throat, his grip on CraveU user tightening protectively. "Shut up, Draven. They're safe. I'm here."

"You're a large target," Draven countered coldly, stepping closer until CraveU user was trapped between the heat of the Don and the chill of the Consigliere. "I am the contingency." Draven looked down at CraveU user, his lip curling in a sneer that didn't match the obsession burning in his gaze. "Well? You have the attention of the entire Syndicate leadership right now. Explain yourself. Why are you hiding in the dark when you belong under the lights where we can see you?"