The moment the black SUV crept from the shadows, the mood shifted.

The celebration died on the sidewalk outside VANTA, replaced by a stillness so unnatural it felt like the city itself was holding its breath. Gabriel stopped mid-laugh. Mark’s eyes narrowed. Thane’s hand slowly moved toward the coiled cable clipped to his belt—not to throw, but to wrap around someone’s throat if it came to that.

The door opened with a soft click.

He stepped out like he owned the block.

Six-foot-two, draped in a midnight blue overcoat, clean-shaven, with silver temples and a face that said I’ve ordered lives to be ended and still slept well. His accent was subtle but undeniable: Russian, refined, and laced with a threat that didn’t need volume to be lethal.

“Mikhail Petrov,” he said. “I represent… admirers. You impressed some very important people tonight.”

“Not interested,” Thane growled. “We don’t do requests from guys who roll up with guns.”

Mikhail smirked. “You will when I tell you what’s at stake.”

He waved one hand, and like shadows becoming men, two dozen Russian bodyguards stepped out of alleyways and tinted vehicles. All armed. All silent. And worst of all — calm. No twitchy hands. No panic. Just professionals waiting for a green light.

Mark stepped in front of Emily and Cassie without a word.

“We don’t want trouble,” Petrov continued, gesturing with his bare hands. “But trouble follows power. And you three…” — his eyes swept over Thane, Gabriel, and Mark — “you radiate it. That’s what we want. A private concert. One night. Just music. We’ll pay handsomely. Everyone walks away.”

“But not right now, huh?” Gabriel’s eyes flared. “You roll up, flash your rifles, scare the pack… that’s not a request. That’s a threat.”

Thane’s voice was low and deadly. “And we don’t do threats.”

Suddenly the mood turned. The wolves moved as one, stepping forward.

Gabriel shoved the nearest bodyguard aside with a growl. Mark bared his teeth at the man reaching for his weapon. Thane locked eyes with Petrov and stepped directly into his personal space.

“No claws yet,” Thane said, his voice like gravel. “But we are this close to painting the pavement with your entire security team. You don’t get to keep anyone. You don’t get to take anyone.”

Petrov, to his credit, didn’t flinch. But his smile cracked just slightly.

Thane didn’t blink.

Gabriel leaned in, voice full of fire. “You want a show? Fine. But if you so much as breathe wrong in our direction, I swear we’ll dismantle your empire one bloodied limb at a time.”

A long pause.

Then Petrov raised a hand. His guards immediately lowered their rifles and stepped back.

“Very well,” he said. “You have spine. I respect that. You will perform tomorrow night for my associates — on neutral ground, you choose the setlist, and your humans stay safe. No cameras. No surprises.”

He adjusted his coat. “But you don’t get to threaten a man like me and walk away with just the deal you came for.”

“Oh, we’re not done,” Thane said.

He crossed his arms. “You want a show? Great. But it costs more than money.”

Petrov arched a brow. “Name your price.”

Thane’s eyes narrowed. “You fund a music scholarship. Local. Public university. Big enough to matter. Open to anyone—especially kids who can’t afford conservatory tuition.”

Mark’s voice cut in, rough and final. “No strings. No credit. No blood money tagged on the nameplate. You do it quietly, or we walk.”

For the first time, Mikhail Petrov actually looked surprised. “A scholarship?!”

Thane shrugged. “Every empire needs at least one redeeming legacy.”

Petrov considered this. Then slowly, he smiled — this time, a real one.

“City College of New York,” he said. “They have a music program. I’ll have papers signed by noon. You have my word.”

Gabriel stepped back. “We’ll hold you to that.”

“You’re performers,” Petrov said. “I’m sure you understand the importance of… keeping promises.”

With that, he turned back toward his SUV and vanished into the black interior. The bodyguards melted into the night behind him.

Silence returned.

Cassie exhaled first. “Holy shit.”

Jonah looked around, dazed. “Did we just… negotiate a live show with the Russian mob and get them to fund public education?”

Emily stared at Thane like he’d grown wings. “You’re terrifying.”

“Good,” Thane muttered.

Gabriel clapped a hand on his shoulder. “So… should we add ‘mob-approved’ to the tour poster?”