King of Greed (Kings of Sin #3) by Ana Huang

“I have to call you back,” I said, not taking my eyes off the spectacle waiting for me outside the apartment. “I’m fine, but something…something came up.”

Correction: a hundred somethings, judging by the number of bouquets littering the hallway. Pink roses for affection, white lilies for forgiveness, golden trumps for strength and triumph over obstacles. I tried to ignore the meaning behind each bouquet as I focused on the garden that had exploded inside the building. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were from.

I’m going to kill Dominic.

“Hi. Alessandra Davenport?” The delivery boy handed me a pen and clipboard. “Can you sign, please? We have more downstairs but, well, we can’t fit them all in the hall.”

I didn’t touch the pen. “How did you get up here?”

Sloane was in Europe dealing with Xavier Castillo, one of her most difficult clients, and building security wouldn’t let any deliveries in without informing the recipient first.

The delivery boy shrugged. “A…” He checked his phone. “Mr. Dominic Davenport called and arranged it. He said he knows the building owner?”

I was going to have a serious talk with the head of security after this.

“Thank you, but I don’t want the flowers,” I said. “Can you please bring them back to the store? I don’t want them to go to waste.”

Panic filled the boy’s face. He exchanged glances with the other employees from the flower shop, all of whom wore similar stricken expressions.

“Our boss said we have to make this delivery. He’s going to check for your signature when we get back.”

I suppressed a groan.

The boy couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. He was probably doing this as a side gig, and it wasn’t his fault Dominic was so…so insufferable. If he thought inundating me with flowers was going to make me back down from the divorce, he didn’t know me at all.

And isn’t that the problem to begin with?

“How about this?” I took the clipboard. “I’ll sign, but you take the flowers to the nearest hospital instead. Your boss doesn’t have to know I didn’t keep them.”

It took some cajoling, but the boy eventually relented and agreed to my plan. On his way out, however, he handed me the note that accompanied the flowers and left before I could protest.

I entered the apartment, my eyes locked on Dominic’s messy, familiar scrawl.

I’m sorry I missed our anniversary dinner and so many more dinners before that. Flowers alone won’t make up for it, but give me a chance to make amends in person and I will. A thousandfold.



His handwriting became near illegible toward the end, but I understood him. I always did.

A tiny drop of wetness smudged the ink. My heart threatened to smash free from my chest as Dominic’s words dragged me back in time.

One day, I’ll buy you a thousand real roses. I promise.

I won’t forget. I promise.

We’ll work this out. I promise.

So many promises. He’d only kept a fraction of them, but I fell for them every time.

Not this time.

I ignored the ache in my chest as I set my jaw, crumpled the note, and tossed it in the trash. After a quick shower, I flung open my closet doors and searched for an appropriate fuck you outfit.

I’d stayed home too many nights waiting for Dominic when I should’ve been out living life, and it was time to make up for lost time.

Starting with tonight.



“You’re beautiful.”

I turned my head, examining the speaker through the buzz of three gin and tonics and one apple martini. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. Floppy hair, designer suit, and the preppy, clean-cut look of a fresh Ivy League grad turned investment banker.

Dominic would chew him up and spit him out for breakfast.

Stop thinking about Dominic.

“Thank you,” I said with a small smile. His pickup line wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was better than previous compliments on my “great tits” and offers to show me a “night I’d never forget.”

“I’m Drew.” He held out his hand.

“Alessandra.”

I wasn’t interested in him romantically or sexually. I was still married, and despite my frustration over Dominic’s stonewalling, I wasn’t a cheater. But Drew seemed nice enough, and I was getting tired of drinking by myself. The whole point of going out was to meet new people.

Baby steps.

“So, Drew, what do you do?” I defaulted to basic small talk. As expected, my new barmate launched into an energetic spiel about the bank he worked for while I sipped my drink and tried to remember how to be a normal, single person on the dating scene again. I wasn’t single yet, but I should start practicing, right?

Luckily, Drew possessed the enthusiasm of a newborn pup and carried the conversation on his own. Every now and then, he remembered to ask me a question about myself, and he scooted closer with every answer until his knee touched mine.

“That’s great,” he said after I gave him a brief overview of what I did for Floria Designs. “So, uh, are you free this weekend? I have tickets to the Yankees game. Box seats.” A hint of braggadocio entered his tone.

No, thanks. I’d never understood the fascination with baseball. I couldn’t even see the ball half the time.