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

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

He said the right thing every time…when he cared enough to say it. His confession after Monday’s dinner had been stuck on a permanent loop in my head for the past week.

That’s all I ask. A chance for us to talk and get to know each other as we are.

I knew better than to fall for it, but sometimes, resisting him was like a falling stone trying to resist the pull of gravity.

My phone vibrated against my hip. I wrenched my gaze from his, eager for a distraction while my pulse pounded at triple speed. It spiked even more when I saw who was calling, but I pressed accept anyway. Anything was better than being alone with Dominic. We might be surrounded by people, but when he was there, no one else existed.

I turned away from him and pressed my phone tight against my ear. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

The last time my mother called me out of the blue like this, she’d lost her passport and missed her flight to New York after partying too hard at some billionaire’s chateau in Europe. She had been the guest of honor at a major fashion event in the city the following day, and I’d scrambled to get her an emergency passport and a new flight so she could make the event. If it hadn’t been for the Davenport name, I might not have succeeded.

“Everything’s wonderful,” she trilled. “In fact, I have amazing news, darling. Are you ready?”

Disbelief coasted through me when she delivered her bombshell. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but the timing was absurd, even for her.

“This Tuesday? Are you kidding?”

“Why would I kid about something like that? This is a big deal! Of course, you and Marcelo need to be there. You’re family, and family is nonnegotiable.”

“Yes, but— ”

“Oops, I have to go. Bernard is waiting for me in the hot tub.” She giggled, which was a deeply disconcerting sound coming from one’s fifty-seven-year-old parent. “See you soon! Don’t forget to moisturize and hydrate. You want to look good for the big day.”

“Mom, you can’t— ”

Dead silence interrupted my protest. She’d hung up.

“What is it?” Dominic asked when I faced him again. A frown was etched in his brow; my end of the conversation was enough to indicate something was wrong.

I was too stunned to hold on to my earlier anger or do anything except tell the truth.

“My mom’s getting married again.” I looked up, seeing my stupefaction reflected in his eyes. “The wedding is in three days.”





CHAPTER 22



Alessandra




IN HER HEYDAY, FABIANA FERREIRA HAD BEEN KNOWN for her curves, her beachy waves, and the small, endearing mole above her upper lip. She’d commanded almost as much money per day as Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, and Christy Turlington, the so-called Holy Trinity of supermodels in the nineties, and she’d graced the covers of every major publication from Vogue to Mode de Vie to Cosmopolitan.

However, outside of her modeling accomplishments, she was even more famous for her string of failed relationships, including three marriages (and divorces) by the time she turned forty.

She was almost sixty now, but she could pass for someone twenty years younger as the makeup artist put the finishing touches on her face. It’d been seventy-two hours since her call, and here I was, helping her get ready for her fourth wedding in Rio.

“Thank you, darling,” my mother said when I handed her a bottle of coconut water. “I’m so glad the dress fits you. Lorena is a genius.” Lorena was her longtime stylist and best friend.

“Me too,” I said dryly. Considering the tight timeline, I’d have to make do even if the dress hadn’t fit.

After my mother’s call, Marcelo and I had scrambled to pack and prep for the wedding. I’d been so frazzled I’d forgotten about bus tickets until Dominic stepped in and offered to book us a private driver. His jet was in Rio, and it was easier to get from Buzios to the city by road than by air. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve said no, but I’d had enough on my mind without stressing over tickets and potential delays. I’d accepted, which meant he was in attendance today since it would’ve been rude not to invite him after he did us a favor, but I’d deal with that later.

At the moment, I was more concerned about my mother’s impending marriage to someone I didn’t know and hadn’t heard of until three days ago.

“How did you and Bernard meet?” Between the fittings, photo-shoots, and last-minute cake tastings, we hadn’t had a chance to discuss her relationship until now.

Apparently, Bernard was a big shot in the telecommunications space, which explained how he had the money and resources to pull together a luxury wedding with less than a week’s notice. According to Mom, he’d proposed the day before her call.

“At a boutique on Avenue Montaigne. Isn’t that just perfect?” My mom sighed. “I was shopping for a new pair of shoes and he was buying jewelry for his mother’s birthday. It was love at first sight. He invited me to dinner that night—we went to a restaurant with the most fabulous foie gras—and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Buying jewelry for his mother? Likely story. I bet the jewelry had been for his girlfriend at the time, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned a long time ago that there was no use arguing with my mother when it came to her love life.