I pushed the door open, the hinges letting out a faint, mocking creak. I braced myself for blood, for a struggle, for a nightmare—but the reality that greeted me was far more intoxicating and just as dangerous.
"What the fu—" The words died in my throat.
Sitting on the edge of my unmade bed was the Queen of the streets herself. Big Mom.
In the warehouse, she had been titan of power in sharp power suits. Here, in the dim, amber glow of my bedroom, she was a vision of pure, unadulterated temptation. She had shed the armor of her business persona, replaced by a sheer, silk morning gown the color of midnight. The fabric was dangerously thin, clinging to her curves, and sliding off one shoulder to reveal the smooth, flawless expanse of her chocolate-toned skin, which seemed to glow with a soft, iridescent sheen.
