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

The regret of a thousand missed opportunities trickled through my veins.

Alessandra’s face softened for a split second before hardening. “I served the papers, didn’t I?”

I might’ve believed her had it not been for the tiny hitch in her voice, but her response still had its intended effect. It slashed through my composure, drawing blood and pain with one viciously clean slice.

Alessandra wasn’t the type who enjoyed hurting people, and her defensiveness was a testament to how much I’d hurt her. Out of everything, that knowledge cut the deepest.

I’d thought I’d been doing the right thing by providing for us, but our definitions on what that looked like had clearly diverged over the years.

There’s no short-term fix for something like this.

Kai’s words echoed in my head, underpinned by a familiar sweet, warm croon as the music segued into a new song.

My breaths stilled at the same time as Alessandra’s. The sign outside the bar had proclaimed tonight Latin night, but what were the chances they would play this exact song at this exact moment?

Like I said, I didn’t believe in fate…except when it came to us.

“Dance with me.” I lowered my hand and held it out. She didn’t take it. I’d expected the refusal, but it stung nonetheless. “What would tonight look like if things were different?” I asked quietly. “If we were the people we used to be?”

A visible swallow betrayed Alessandra’s emotions. “Don’t.”

“Indulge me.” My voice softened further. “For old time’s sake.”

The music swirled around us, carrying us away from the bar and into the past.



“Come on, dance with me.” Alessandra laughed at my grimace. “Just once. I promise you won’t combust into flames.”

“Debatable.” Nevertheless, I took her outstretched hand. I hated making a fool of myself, but I’d never been able to deny her anything. “I don’t know how to dance to this.”

It was our last night in Brazil. Her mother and brother were out, leaving us alone for the evening. A breeze filtered through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of summer, and a woman’s exquisite voice crooned from the old record player spinning in the corner.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like the samba I tried to teach you yesterday.” Alessandra pulled me to the center of the living room. “Just put your hands here like this…” She placed my hands on her hips. “Hold me like this…” She pressed her cheek against my chest, her breath catching when I stroked her gently through the thin cotton of her dress. “And sway,” she finished with a whisper.

I tucked my chin against the top of her head and closed my eyes as we swayed to the music. I ignored the small velvet box burning a hole in my pocket; for now, I was happy just holding her.

We’d come a long way since our first meeting nine months ago, and I silently thanked whatever higher power was out there for putting me in her path—even if they’d had to drag me there kicking and screaming.

“My mom used to play this song whenever she had a new boyfriend.” Alessandra lifted her head. “I heard it a lot.”

I believed it. Whereas Alessandra was easygoing and down to earth, her ex-supermodel mother lived in a world of her own. She’d arrived at dinner yesterday wearing a feather minidress, diamond necklace, and her rock star boyfriend’s mouth glued to her neck.

“Who’s the singer?” I asked.

“Marisa Monte.” Her smile was so soft and warm I felt it deep in my bones. “It’s called ‘Amor I Love You.’”



Present-day Alessandra wasn’t smiling, but the sheen in her eyes gave me an inkling of hope. As long as she felt something, we were salvageable, because what I feared wasn’t her hate; it was her indifference.

“If things were different, we would’ve shown up together,” she said. “We would order drinks, tell each other about our days, and complain about the rush hour traffic. We’d make up life stories about the people around us and argue about whether it was too early to put up Christmas decorations. We would be a normal couple, and we would…” Her voice caught. “We would be happy.”

The brokenness of the last word cleaved my heart in half. The picture she painted was a tribute to simpler times, and while I never wanted to be the powerless, penniless boy I’d been when we’d first met again, I did want to be the man she fell in love with.

I wanted her to smile at me the way she used to.

I wanted her by my side, happy and laughing and whole.

I wanted us back, even if it meant stripping away parts of the person I’d worked so hard to build.

“One dance.” I hadn’t begged anyone for anything in a long time, but I was begging now. “Please.”

The song ended. The moment of nostalgia dissipated, but I barely noticed as I waited for Alessandra’s response.

She stared at my outstretched hand. My heart slammed against my ribcage, and just when I thought she would walk away and take the damn organ with her, she slipped her palm into mine.

Relief crushed the air from my throat.

I drew her closer, careful not to move too fast lest I spooked her.

One dance. One song. One chance.

“Do you remember the first time we went to a bar together?” I asked. “I passed English comp, and we celebrated with shots at the Crypt.”