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

“True,” Marcelo said. “Still, it’s kind of sad.”

Curiosity played tug of war with my better instincts. The former won, and I glanced to my right, where Dominic was sitting by his pool. Six-foot hedges separated our villas, but my high vantage point gave me a direct view of his backyard.

He was scrolling on his phone and eating the saddest-looking sandwich I’d ever seen. Lantern lights swayed in the trees, casting a soft glow over his features.

The cynical part of me wondered if he was eating by the pool because he’d heard us on the rooftop and wanted to gain our sympathy. The empathetic part of me couldn’t help but feel a pang in my chest.

Marcelo was right. He did look lonely.

My brother followed my gaze. “The town feels a whole lot smaller, doesn’t it?”

“It’s big enough. He does his thing, we do ours.” I kept my voice low, but Dominic looked up at that exact moment like he’d heard me. Our eyes locked, and a shiver of electricity ran beneath my skin.

I tore my gaze away before it intensified into anything more dangerous.

“You feel bad for him, don’t you?” I said when Marcelo frowned. “What happened to always having my back?” I was only half joking.

My brother owed a lot to Dominic, who’d gotten him his first job as a junior chef in one of the Laurents’ restaurants before he graduated to his current role as executive sous chef. I didn’t expect him to shun him just because we were divorced, but his obvious soft spot for Dominic made me uneasy simply because I could see myself sliding toward the same feelings.

I was too susceptible to others’ opinions. I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t help it.

“It’s still true, but I also feel bad for him,” Marcelo said. “We both know why he’s here, and it’s not for vacation.” He nodded at the man in question. “When was the last time Dominic willingly took time off work?”

Never. Even when we were married, I had to force him to stay in Brazil for longer than a few days between Christmas and New Year’s.

It suddenly struck me how massive a deal his appearance was. This wasn’t a night off or a rescheduled meeting; he’d left the office, flown to another continent, and, judging by how comfortable he was making himself at Villa Luz, he intended to stay awhile.

My stomach twisted into knots. Don’t let him fool you. Dominic would do anything to win, but the prize only mattered before he obtained it.

“Come on,” I said, sidestepping Marcelo’s question. “The food is going to be ready soon, and I need to take a shower.”

“You showered an hour ago.”

“I need to shower again,” I lied. “The humidity’s a killer.”

Marcelo slid a knowing glance at me but didn’t argue. While he checked on the feijoada, I halfheartedly rinsed off, letting the hot water wash away my lingering sympathy for Dominic.

By the time I toweled off and entered the dining room, Marcelo was already setting the table.

“Here. I’ll help.” I grabbed the plates from him. “Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t take that long this time.”

He always teased me about my long showers, but I’d been in there for thirty minutes, tops.

“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck, his expression equal parts scared and apprehensive. “So, uh, here’s the thing. While you were— ”

Someone came up behind him and interrupted him. “Where did you put your cocktail glasses? I don’t see— ” Dominic stopped abruptly when he noticed me. He’d changed into a linen shirt and pants, and he held a bottle of cachaça in one hand and his phone in the other.

Heat suffused my skin, erasing the shower’s aftereffects. There was only one reason why he would be in our house, holding that bottle, and looking for our cocktail glasses.

Marcelo had invited him over for dinner.

Forget sibling vacations. Tomorrow, I’d be an only child because I was going to murder my brother.

My soon-to-be-dead brother cleared his throat. “Dominic came over and asked if he could borrow some sugar. Turns out Luz didn’t stock the house with condiments and the store in town is closed, so I asked if he’d like to join us instead. I made too much food anyway.”

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can leave,” Dominic said when I remained silent. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I had a sandwich.”

“It’s fine.” I forced a smile. I refused to let him see how he affected me.

Another awkward beat passed before Marcelo cleared his throat again. “The glasses are in the lower cabinet, second from the left. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it.”

Dominic nodded and disappeared into the kitchen again. The instant he was out of eyeshot, I glared at Marcelo, who backed away with his hands in the air.

“What were you thinking?” I whisper-shouted. “Borrowing sugar? Seriously? You fell for that?”

“I panicked, okay?” he hissed back. “What was I supposed to do? Turn the poor guy away?”

“Yes.” I flapped a hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “You invited my ex-husband to dinner! We divorced two months ago, and he followed me to Brazil!”

“You know I don’t deal well with interpersonal pressure! He smelled the feijoada and…fuck, he’s coming.”