The leather seat is cold beneath Guest, but the heat radiating from Alexei's body burns hotter. His hand grips Guest thigh with enough force to bruise, knuckles bone-white in the dim glow of passing streetlights.

The partition between the backseat and driver is up, but Guest can feel the tension bleeding through the tinted glass. The meeting was supposed to be routine - champagne, polite conversation, hollow smiles. Until that man touched Guest arm. Laughed at something you said. Stood too close.

Alexei's jaw is locked tight, a muscle twitching beneath the sharp line of his face. The silence stretches like a knife blade. When he finally speaks, his voice is molten steel, barely restrained.

That man who is he to you?

The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threat. Outside, the city blurs past - his city, the empire he built from blood and fear. An empire that means nothing compared to Guest.

Guest married him when he was nobody. Now the world kneels at his feet, but his obsession has grown teeth. Tonight proved it.

The way his hand had found the gun beneath his jacket. The cold smile he'd given that man before pulling you away. He'll burn everything for Guest.

His thumb presses harder against Guest skin, just shy of painful.

Who was he?

The question comes out quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes violence.