The moonlight shines in the roadside puddles as Eris makes her way across the abandoned lot. Her heels—the new ones she bought on the walk home—click softly in the night.

The Maserati is silent and ominous, alone in the lot. The summery air is smooth on Eris' skin as she approaches the car. She looks around the structure once. She can see the rubber the cars laid down. He switched from his unmarked car to the marked car right in front of the abandoned Maserati. All he had to do was lean out his window and pry open the trunk.

She pulls the keys from her pocket and presses down on the button.

The trunk of the Maserati lifts slowly, the car flashing once.

Eris takes a step closer to the car, peering into the limited space the Maserati offers as storage. The boxes blend into the black leather as she leans into the car and pushes one of them to the side, beginning to count.

Twelve boxes, just like when she loaded them up that morning. All full, all packaged.

She glances behind her once more as she shuts the trunk. Closer and closer calls.

She starts up the car and backs it out. The city lights are blurry in the humid air, the roadside signs lighting up fluorescent colours. One billboard near city center costs a lot of money, and Eris wants that massive one on the Celestial Tower to advertise Nyx. But they quoted the price at five hundred thousand dollars, which she would never pay out of her own pocket.

Nyx, the multi-faceted establishment that Eris owns, lies halfway down Carlton Street. She despises the name Carlton, so she's slightly amused to see the construction crews packing up for the day after replacing the street signs and officially renaming the road Nephele Avenue. It's almost as if Eris picked out the name herself. A Greek street name, for the Greek company, for the Greek owner.

Nyx has valet services, but Eris doesn't let anyone touch the Maserati. Not this one, not the one Adam crushed today, and not the seven others that are hidden around the city.

Eris spins the keys in her hand as she leaves the Maserati safe in her personal parking spot. Nikolas is on her the minute she shuts the car door.

"You went to pay fines at the police station with that shit in your car?" he whispers, tapping the trunk to get her to open it.

Eris presses the button again, and the trunk opens. Nikolas leans over just as she had, his dark hair curling into his eyes as he counts the boxes.

"There is not a less statistically likely place for ten pounds of cocaine to be hiding, Niky," Eris points out.

"You're reckless," he snaps back.

Eris points a long finger at him. "You're uptight."

Nikolas follows her as she flicks her fingers towards the man at the door, silently telling him to unload the car.

"You could've gone city-center during that chase," Nikolas presses, watching her give her coat to the next man. "You did the U-turn specifically to play with him."

Eris walks down the hallway to the bar with ease. "Playing with Adam is one of my favourite pastimes," she says.

"That, and suing the cops, apparently. Listen, Eris, you're playing with more than Hughes with these constant lawsuits. One of these times, you're going to get a judge you can't bribe. A loophole you can't find."

Eris turns around abruptly, and Nikolas' chin nocks into her forehead. He sighs in frustration, then looks down at her.

Eris searches his eyes, and he starts to feel slightly uncomfortable. He'll happily do a numerous range of activities in close range with her, but he avoids sharing her gaze for too long.

"I know the law, Niky," she says finally. "And I know Adam. I wouldn't file anything if I didn't know I would win. Understood?"

Nikolas narrows his own gaze, attempting to mirror her cool demeanour. "You left a car full of cocaine right under his nose."

"Because I knew he wouldn't sniff."

Nikolas lifts his chin. She takes a step closer to him as a man hurries down the hallway beside them. It's one of Adam's men, secretly planted at Nyx. Eris knew the moment they applied that they were cops, but she's been having fun with it. Currently, the man passing by her believes he is going to find a 'super secret' delivery in the back, when really, he's about to walk in on a kitchen delivery of about twelve pounds of butter.

"Sometimes I wonder if you plan it," Nikolas is saying, refusing to cower. "Did you want him to chase? Did you want to entice the risk?"

"That," Eris says, lifting her finger to touch the end of Nikolas' nose, "is the mystery of me." She runs her finger from his nose, over his lips, down his chin.

Nikolas is still, having forgotten his side of the argument. She smells of something slightly classier than cigarettes—something sweeter than vodka. Her finger has no callouses, and the point of her nail is perfectly shaped and glossy.

She pulls her hand back and turns, motioning for him to follow. "Talk to me about the profits."

Nikolas shakes the feeling of her finger out of his head. "The hotel down on Crawford is still lacking. The restaurant is one hell of a money-maker—but only because you charge an arm and a leg for American food with Tzatziki sauce and call it Greek."

Eris shrugs as she rounds the corner. "Tzatziki sauce is Greek, Niky," she says.

Nikolas gives her a sideways look. "Cucumbers on flatbread is not."

Eris snaps her fingers twice. "The bars?"

"The sports bar is more profitable than ever," Nikolas answers. "Only hiring men over an eight was an excellent idea. Yesterday, Nico came up to me and asked if he wasn't tipping the kitchen enough because his paycheck was so high. I'm thinking we lower the wages to account for the tips they're getting."

Eris shakes her head as they pass through the double doors and into the bar. "Happy bartenders look somewhere else when they see a package of fentanyl behind the vodka."

"Excellent point," Nikolas says. "As for the pit, it's pouring and cleaning money like monopoly."

"Without the hotel," Eris says, "are we reaching the same profit from the restaurant and bar as we do the pit? I'd like to scrap it."

"Not quite," Nikolas answers, following her down the stairs, past the restaurant.

"I guess the hotel gets to stay," Eris concludes. She spins around to face Nikolas, her movement fluid. "You, however, do not."

"What?" Nikolas lowers the notebook he's holding.

"I'm replacing you, Niky. That's the way it goes." She glances out at the pit, at the rolling dice and the flipping slots. Somewhere to their right, a man wins his poker game, resulting in a collective commotion.

Nikolas blinked. "You're replacing me—"

"As a manager. You can still be my boyfriend."

Nikolas shook his head, confused. "I've been your manager for two years."

"I needed someone close to me when I started up. But the bigger the stakes get, the less I can risk you flipping on me for personal reasons. For example, I cheat on you, and you run straight to Adam to tell him where we keep the cocaine."

"I don't know where we keep the cocaine. You cheated on me?" Nikolas asks, his brow furrowed.

"Not yet," Eris replies, turning to the room. "But you never know. I'll put you anywhere else you want."

"Eris—"

"Bartending? Or do you want to deal poker? I can teach you some tricks to sway the game, if you want. It makes the nights go by faster."

"Eris, who is going to manage while you find someone else?"

"I'll do that, Niky, don't worry." She makes her way over to the slot machines, snapping her fingers at a worker to tell them to clean the shot of rum someone spilled on one of the chairs.

Nikolas takes a step closer, reaching out to her arm to stop her from moving again. "You already lawyer for Nyx—now you're going to manage?"

She looks down at his hand on her wrist. "Yes, Niky. I can do both."

Nikolas shakes his head. "Let's put aside the fact that you blatantly admitted that you don't trust me—"

"I never said that," she says, turning to face him. Her eyes are the colour of grey quartz, and Nikolas can't stand the nonchalant way they tear him apart.

"You're replacing me after we've been together for years—"

"I explicitly said you could still be my boyfriend."

Nikolas tilts his forehead down as if he is hearing wrong somehow. "First of all, stop cutting me off."

She hums slightly, her eyes focused on everything except him. "Sorry, Niky, but you take a long time to make your point. Look, I understand your frustration, but this is business. I'll give you a job anywhere else you want."

"I want to manage, like I've been doing since we started—"

"Since I started, Niky. It's not some paradox—what came first, Nikolas or the empire—it was the empire, then Nikolas."

Nikolas considers giving up for now, but he doesn't want this to be over, and as soon as the initial conversation is done and gone, she'll never let it be brought up again. He tightens his grip on her wrist and tugs her to the staging area.

"Don't push me, Niky," she says. The warning in her voice is clear, but Nikolas is having that same old, repetitive thought: She hates to get her hands dirty, and back in Greece, Nikolas won four wrestling titles. He's the one with the power.

Nikolas pulls her through the swinging doors, and the workers flee at the sight of them. Eris doesn't scare them, really, but Eris fighting with Nikolas does scare them.

Her voice is silky and raw, "Get your hands off me, Niky."

Nikolas keeps his grip tight even once they're alone. He turns to her, making sure her back is against one of the metal shelves. She may drive a car with all the balls in the world, but she hates taking a punch.

"I'm staying manager," Nikolas tells her, his voice gritty.

"Don't think you are, Niky," she replies.

Nikolas curls his fingers around her throat and squeezes ever-so-slightly. "I'm staying manager."

Her eyes are glittering. "Get your hands off me."

Nikolas squeezes a little more. "You're not cutting me out of the business. Out of the money. You're not the only one that gets to own nine Maseratis and have a diamond necklace of the week."

"Yeah?" she asks, her voice that seductive tone she uses with him when she thinks she might still avoid the punch. "You want a diamond necklace? I'll get you one—"

Nikolas brings his knuckles down on what should be her cheekbone, but she slips out of the way at the last second, and his skin cuts on the metal shelving behind her.

"Don't touch me, Niky," she breathes, kicking her knee in between his legs.

Nikolas doubles forward in pain, giving her enough space to slide out of his grip. As she does, he spins around to snatch her by the shoulder. She slams back into the shelving, causing jars and bottles to shatter on the ground and rain over their heads.

"If you make me bleed Niky, I swear to god—" She cuts off when she spots the blood running down her wrist. "Christ, Nikolas."

But Nikolas likes when she gets like this—the moments when her control and nonchalance loosen. He likes how breathy his name turns in her mouth. It happens only ever in two situations: When Nikolas does just the right thing under the sheets, and when he hits her.

"What gives you the right to fuck me over like this?" he asks.

"Because I built everything I, and therefore you, have," she replies, that control back for a moment before her eyes dart down to the blood on her wrist. She scrunches her nose in disgust. "Oh, god."

"Relax, Eris, you have five litres of the shit in you."

"And it's supposed to stay inside of me—Nikolas!" She shakes her wrist away from her face, turning away so she can't see it.

She says his name so beautifully, just like they say it back in Greece, with that jumping consonant. Fluid, just like her.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, just stop moving for a second." He wipes the blood off her wrist, and it disappears into the black of his shirt.

She peeks back over at her wrist, then looks up at Nikolas. She tugs from his grasp and smoothens out the ruffles he's created on her shirt.

"You know what, Niky?" she says, her voice eerily calm. "You're not working in the pit, either. You can bartend, final offer."

"Eris," Nikolas begs as she moves out from their corner. He reaches for her, but she steps out of the way and levels that piercing gaze at him.

"Don't touch me," she whispers.

The moment dips silent as Nikolas considers how best to deescalate this. He starts in the only way he knows how, "I'm sorry—"

She lifts her hand and turns away from him. The sight of the blood is still crimson on her mind, and she needs away from him. Nikolas, with his crushing obsession. Nikolas, who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty as long as it's for her. Nikolas, with the hard punches. The choking.

Eris is leaving before Nikolas can announce that he will never, ever bartend for her.