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

“I think it’s time to call it a day.” A yawn split Marcelo’s face. “We’ll repeat tomorrow. Or not. I might just pass out and sleep.”

“No sleeping. We’re on vacation.” I packed up our towels while he took care of our cooler.

“Isn’t the point of vacation to sleep?” he grumbled, sounding like a preteen again.

“Not when you’re with me.”

“Fine.” Marcelo rolled his eyes. “Take the girl out of a relationship, and she’s suddenly a party animal.”

“Hey, I’m rediscovering myself, okay? It’s like Eat Pray Love, but without the pray or the love.”

That earned me a loud snort.

I glanced at a couple kissing near the shore on our way back to the villa. The woman’s red hair blazed like fire against the sunset, and the guy had the lean, muscled build of an athlete or outdoors enthusiast.

I watched as he broke the kiss halfway through, threw his girlfriend over his shoulder, and walked deeper into the ocean with admirable ease.

“Josh, don’t you dare! I’m going to kill you!” she screamed a second before he tossed her into the water. She grabbed him at the last minute and he fell in with her, their laughs and curses echoing across the empty beach.

A wistful smile pushed through the ache in my chest. God, I missed those heady days of young love. I was only thirty-one, but I felt like I’d lived a lifetime in terms of relationships. Jaded, worn out, heartbroken. What a prize after ten years.

Whoever the couple was, I hoped they’d have a happier ending than I did.

Marcelo and I arrived at our street right as twilight melted into dusk. Our mother owned a vacation home in Buzios in addition to her apartment in Rio, where she’d moved after retiring from modeling, but she rarely used the villa. I was convinced she’d forgotten it existed.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked. Marcelo and I had subsisted on alcohol and snacks all day, and since my cooking skills were subpar at best, he was in charge of the food while I handled the cleanup.

“Feijoada,” he said, naming a traditional black bean and pork stew. “I’m too tired to come up with anything more creative.”

Since it was a heavy dish, most people ate it for lunch, not dinner, but I would never say no to my brother’s feijoada regardless of the time of day.

“Well, you know I’ll never turn down…” My sentence trailed off when a cab stopped a few feet away from us. A man got out of the backseat and retrieved his suitcase from the trunk.

It was too dark to see his face clearly, but his height and build looked alarmingly familiar.

Stop. It’s not him. You’re in Brazil, for Christ’s sake. Not New York.

Marcelo squinted into the evening. “Is it just me or does that look a lot like Dominic?”

Sweat coated my palms. Breathe. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not every tall— ” I interrupted myself when the cab pulled away and its headlights cast the man’s face into sharp relief.

Blue eyes. Chiseled face. A casual expression as he approached us like he hadn’t popped up out of nowhere in freaking Buzios wearing…were those shorts? I hadn’t seen Dominic in anything more casual than a T-shirt and jeans in years, and even that was rare.

“Hi.” He stopped in front of us, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” This couldn’t be happening. I must be hallucinating after getting heatstroke from our beach day. “Are you following me?”

“I’m on vacation,” Dominic said calmly. “I’m long overdue for a break, and since it’s Thanksgiving, I figured I’d head somewhere sunny. New York is pretty miserable this week.”

“Thanksgiving was two days ago.”

“Yes, but it’s still Thanksgiving weekend.” His smile, though brief, hit me harder than I cared to admit. “It counts.”

I crossed my arms, grateful for any barrier that separated us. “And of all the places in the world, you happened to vacation here?”

A shrug. “I love Brazil.” His simple reply didn’t conceal the intimacy of his meaning.

I love Brazil. I love you.

The unspoken words wrapped around me, holding me captive long enough that Marcelo cleared his throat. Loudly.

I startled and tore my eyes away from Dominic. I’d forgotten my brother was there.

“So, uh, where are you staying?” His gaze darted between me and his ex- brother- in- law.

This time, Dominic’s smile contained a hint of devilishness. “At Villa Luz.”

Villa Luz belonged to a Brazilian socialite who occasionally rented it out to VIP guests when she wasn’t using it. It was famously large, lavish, and decorated to the nines.

It was also located smack dab next to our own villa.





CHAPTER 18



Alessandra




FUCK.





CHAPTER 19



Alessandra




“HE LOOKS LONELY.”

“That’s none of our business.” I stared at my drink and forced myself not to look next door. “He chose to go on a solo vacation.”

Marcelo and I were having homemade caipirinhas on the rooftop deck while the feijoada cooked. I shouldn’t ingest any more alcohol after our boozy beach day, but I needed to take the edge off after my run-in with Dominic.