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

I was hollow and brittle, a million shattered pieces that hurt too much to pick up.

My sobs eventually slowed then subsided altogether, and before I could second-guess myself, I pushed off the floor and stepped back into the hall. The temperature-controlled penthouse maintained a perfect seventy-three degrees year-round, but tiny shivers wracked my body as I grabbed what I needed from the bedroom. The rest of my essentials were already packed and waiting in the living room.

I didn’t allow myself to think. If I did, I would chicken out, and I couldn’t afford to at this stage.

A familiar sparkle caught my eye when I pulled my suitcase handle up. I stared at my wedding ring, a fresh ache tearing through my chest as it blinked up at me in a seeming plea to reconsider.

I faltered for a split second before I set my jaw, slid the ring off my finger, and placed it next to my and Dominic’s wedding picture on the mantel.

Then I finally did what I should’ve done a long time ago.

I left.





CHAPTER 4



Dominic




“ÁLE!” MY VOICE ECHOED THROUGH THE PENTHOUSE. “I’m home.”

Silence.

My brows dipped. Alessandra usually stayed in the living room until it was time for bed, and it was too early for her to go to sleep. My emergency work meeting had segued into a second emergency meeting after several investors called, panicking about the falling stocks. Still, it was only half past eight. She should be here unless she’d gone out with her friends again.

I tossed my coat on the bronze tree by the door and loosened my tie, trying to ignore the niggling sense that something was wrong. It was hard to think properly during my work-fueled adrenaline crash.

I’d nearly had a heart attack the first time Alessandra went clubbing with Vivian and didn’t tell me. I came home early, didn’t see her, and pictured the worst. I’d called every damn person in my phone book until she finally called me back and reassured me she was okay.

I reached for my cell only to remember it’d died that afternoon. I hadn’t had time to charge it amidst all the chaos.

Dammit.

“Ále!” I called out again. “Where are you, amor?”

Still no answer.

I crossed the living room and took the stairs to the second floor. Forty million dollars bought quite a few perks in Manhattan, including a private elevator entrance, twelve thousand square feet spread over two floors, and sweeping views that encompassed the Hudson River to the south, the George Washington bridge to the north, and New Jersey to the west.

I barely noticed any of it. We wouldn’t live here forever; I already had my eye on a bigger, even more expensive penthouse that was currently under development by the Archer Group. It didn’t matter that I spent only a fraction of my time at home. Real estate was a symbol, and if it wasn’t the best, I didn’t want it.

I opened the doors to the master suite. I expected to see Alessandra curled up in bed or reading in the sitting area, but they were as empty as the living room.

My eyes landed on the suitcase by the closet. It was the one I usually took for short trips. Why—

My blood turned to ice.

DC. Anniversary. Six p.m. No wonder I’d been walking around with an impending sense of dread all evening. I’d forgotten our goddamned wedding anniversary.

“Fuck.” I pulled out my phone only to remember it was dead.

A fresh litany of curses spilled out as I yanked open various drawers, searching for a charger while our conversation from Wednesday night replayed in my head.

Dom. It’s important.

I won’t forget. I promise.

Thick, slimy dread gnawed at my stomach. I’d missed dates before. I wasn’t proud of it, but last-minute emergencies were the nature of my work, and Alessandra always seemed to take it in stride. I had a sinking feeling this time was different, and not only because it was our anniversary.

I finally found a charger and plugged my phone in. After what seemed like an eternity, it gained enough charge to blink on.

Six missed calls from Alessandra, all received between five and eight p.m. Nothing since then.

I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. I bit back another curse and pivoted to the second-best option: her friends. I didn’t have their numbers, but luckily, I knew someone who did.

“It’s Dominic,” I said brusquely when Dante picked up my call. “Is Vivian there? I need to talk to her.”

“Good evening to you too,” he drawled. Dante Russo was a friend, a longtime client, and the CEO of the world’s largest luxury conglomerate. Most importantly, he was married to Vivian, whom Alessandra had gotten quite close to over the past year. If anyone knew where my wife was, she did. “Tell me why, exactly, you need to talk to Vivian this late on a Friday night?”

A hint of suspicion leaked into his voice. He was fiercely protective of his wife, which was ironic considering he hadn’t wanted to marry her at all when they initially got engaged.

“It’s about Alessandra.” I didn’t supply any further details. My marriage was none of his damn business.

A short pause greeted my answer. “Hold on.”

“Hello?” Vivian’s elegant, dulcet tones floated over the line two seconds later.

“Is Alessandra with you?” I skipped the niceties and cut straight to the chase. I didn’t care if she thought I was rude; I only cared about finding my wife. It was late, she was upset, and New York was filled with unsavory people. She could be lost or hurt right now.