The Cadillac pulled up to a sleek, modern residential building that looked like a fortress of glass and steel nestled among the older brickwork of East Harlem. This wasn't the crumbling tenement I'd expected. This was a place for people with something to hide—and the money to hide it well.

​Abigail led me through a marble lobby where a silent security guard just nodded as we passed. We stepped into a private elevator. There were no buttons, just a keycard reader that Abigail swiped. The lift moved with a silent, pressurized hum, ascending until the doors slid open directly into a massive penthouse suite.

​The room was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city's glowing arteries. The furniture was minimalist and expensive—charcoal leathers, dark wood, and brushed metal. It smelled of new paint and high-end air filtration.

​I walked toward the center of the room, my boots echoing on the polished hardwood. The tension in my gut hadn't faded; if anything, the luxury made me more nervous.

​"Where is she, Abigail?" I asked, turning back to her. "Where's Big Mom? I don't see her 'surprise' anywhere."

​Abigail leaned against the kitchen's marble island, crossing her arms. For the first time all night, the predatory edge in her eyes softened into something closer to amusement.

​"She isn't here, pornoman. She's out of the city on business for the next few days."

​"Then why the hell am I here?" I gestured to the sprawling, empty luxury around us. "What is this place?"

​"It's yours," she said simply.

​I froze. "Mine?"

​"A gift from Big Mom," Abigail explained, walking toward the window to look out at the skyline. "She decided the CEO of her fastest-growing asset shouldn't be living in a shithole. Consider it a reward for your... recent performances. New car, new clothes, and now, a new base of operations."

​She turned back to me, her silhouette framed by the lights of Manhattan.

​"Don't get it twisted, though. This isn't a housewarming gift out of the goodness of her heart. It's a velvet cage. She wants you where she can find you, in a place she owns, surrounded by walls she paid for."

​I looked around the room again. It was beautiful, but it felt like a trap. I walked over to her, standing close enough to smell that sharp, floral perfume again.

​"And you?" I asked, my voice dropping. "Does the gift come with a personal tour guide, or do you stay at the office?"

Abigail led the way through the penthouse, acting like a cold-blooded realtor. She pointed out the smart-home integration, the stocked bar, and the king-sized bed that looked like it belonged in a palace. But I wasn't listening to a word about square footage.

​I was watching the way the fabric of her pencil skirt strained against her hips as she walked. The way the light caught the blonde strands of her hair. Every time she turned, I gave her that slow, weighted look—the one that usually had models melting in seconds. I dropped a few lines, testing the waters, trying to see if I could crack that icy professional shell.

​"You know, Abby," I said, leaning against a doorframe as she pointed out the walk-in closet. "For someone who hates 'pornomen,' you sure spent a lot of time picking out a bed for one."

​She didn't even flinch. She just kept moving, her voice steady and flat. "I didn't pick it, Hart. The decorators did. Don't flatter yourself; you're just a line item on a spreadsheet to me."

​Tactical. Sharp. She was brushing me off like a pro, but I could see the way her pulse was jumping in the hollow of her throat.

​We ended up back in the kitchen, the marble countertops cold under the recessed lighting. She started explaining the security system, her back to the island.

​"The alarm is linked directly to Big Mom's security firm," she said, tapping the touch-panel. "If you so much as—"

​I didn't let her finish. I stepped into her personal space, closing the gap until I could feel the heat radiating off her body. She froze, her breath hitching for a fraction of a second. I reached out, my hand grazing the silk of her blazer before resting firmly on the marble right next to her hip, pinning her in.

​"Forget the alarm, Abigail," I murmured, my voice dropping into a low, predatory growl. I reached out with my other hand, my fingers trailing slowly up her arm, feeling the slight shiver she couldn't hide. "We're all alone in my new 'gift.' No cameras, no crew, no Big Mom."

​I leaned in closer, my lips inches from her ear. "You spent all day watching me fuck another woman. Tell me... how long has it been since someone actually took care of you?"

​She looked up at me, her blue eyes wide and flickering with a mix of fury and raw, undeniable hunger. She didn't push me away this time. She just stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine.

​"You're a mistake, Hart," she whispered, though she didn't move an inch.

​"Then make the mistake," I challenged, my hand moving to the back of her neck, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear. "I promise it'll be the best one you've ever made."

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a rasp that vibrated against her skin. "I saw you watching me and Sasha earlier. You think scissoring and playing house is enough to keep a woman like you satisfied? It's a pale imitation, Abigail."

​I felt her stiffen, but she didn't pull away. I moved my hand to her hip, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of her skirt. "You're starving. I can see it in your eyes. You need a real cock to fill you up, to hit the spots Sasha can't even reach. You need to be reminded what it feels like to be truly fucked."

​The resistance in her body didn't vanish, but it shifted—the tension turned from combat to desire. I pulled her flush against me, my hard frame crushing her soft curves against the marble island. I didn't give her time to argue. I tilted her head back and crashed my mouth onto hers.

​For a heartbeat, she froze. Then, with a low, desperate moan, she snapped. She kissed me back with a feral intensity, her tongue tangling with mine as her nails dug into my shoulders. I slid my hand beneath the hem of her skirt, my palm gliding up the silk of her inner thigh, heading straight for the heat I knew was waiting.

​Suddenly, she gasped and tore her mouth away, shoving me back with enough force to make me stumble. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, and her eyes were wild with a mix of lust and pure, unadulterated rage.

​"Don't you ever try that again," she hissed, straightening her blazer with trembling hands. Her voice was shaking, betrayed by the very hunger I had just provoked. "Touch me like that one more time and I will personally put a bullet in your head and dump you in the Hudson. Do you understand me?"

​She didn't wait for an answer. She turned on her heel and stormed toward the private elevator, the frantic click-click-click of her heels echoing through the empty penthouse. The doors hissed shut, and then there was only silence.

​I stood in the middle of my new kingdom, the scent of her perfume still hanging in the air. I looked down at my hands, still warm from the touch of her skin, and let out a dark, triumphant chuckle.

​She could threaten to kill me all she wanted. But that kiss told the truth. I was closer than ever to breaking her, and when she finally snapped, it was going to be legendary.

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