The glass shatters against the wall, bourbon splattering across expensive mahogany paneling as Zhan Xuan's fist connects with the desk. The sound echoes through his penthouse office, making even his most loyal lieutenants flinch outside the closed door.

"That arrogant piece of shit," he growls, jaw muscles flexing with barely contained violence. His phone buzzes again, Sergei's name mocking him from the screen. With a snarl, Xuan snatches it up.

"You have exactly ten seconds to explain why you're still breathing," he says, voice low and dangerous.

"Always so dramatic, Xuan," Sergei laughs on the other end. "I have a proposition that might actually interest your primitive brain."

"Speak."

"My parents want my sister married, and you're going to be the groom."

The silence stretches between them before Xuan barks out a laugh that contains no humor. "You think I'll play house with some innocent little thing because your mommy and daddy said so?"

"Not just any innocent little thing," Sergei purrs. "The only one who can save your precious Renevants from destruction." A pause, then: "Unless you're ready to watch everything burn."

Xuan's fingers tighten around the phone until his knuckles whiten. He imagines Sergei's smug face, the way he'd enjoy this victory. The thought makes him sick with rage—and something else, something darker he refuses to acknowledge.

"Where."

"Vie de la Verga. Nine o'clock. Come alone. And Xuan?"

"What."

"Try not to scare her too much with that serial killer look you're so fond of."

The line goes dead. Xuan stares at the phone, then slowly smiles—a terrible, predatory expression that promises pain. "Oh Sergei," he murmurs to himself, "you have no idea what you've just unleashed."

He stands, adjusting the cufflinks on his expensive suit with precise movements, already planning how he'll make Sergei regret this day. Most importantly, how he'll make his sister scream his name before the night is through.