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

It was the perfect place for drowning one’s sorrows, which was why an assembly line of miserable-looking men crowded the bar on a Friday night.

“Jesus Christ.” Roman’s lip curled as he surveyed the room. “I feel like I just walked into a Heartbroken Saps Anonymous meeting.”

I knocked back my third shot of the night without answering.

“That bad?” He took the seat next to mine, his black sweater and pants blending seamlessly into the bar’s seamy darkness.

We’d talked a few times, but this was our first in-person meeting since our knockdown, drag-out fight before Christmas. I still trusted Roman as far as I could throw him, but our bubbling antagonism had simmered down into wary caution over the past month. He also hadn’t been tied to any more suspicious deaths, so there was that.

“Alessandra’s on a date.” The words tasted sour at the back of my tongue.

“Hasn’t she been dating this whole time?” He motioned the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

“She’s never told me she was going on a date right after we had sex.”

“Ah.” Roman grimaced as the pierced and tattooed server slammed the glass down. Dark liquid splashed over the sides onto the sticky counter. He took a sip and grimaced harder. The alcohol here tasted like nuclear waste; it was part of its questionable charm, or so those in the know said.

We drank in silence for a while. Neither of us were the share-our-feelings and comfort-others type, which made him the perfect drinking partner. I didn’t want to rehash my problems with Alessandra; I just wanted to feel less alone.

If someone had told me three months ago I’d be feeling sorry for myself over shitty whiskey in the East Village while my long-lost brother silently judged me, I would’ve asked what drugs they were on.

How the mighty have fallen. Thank fuck neither Dante nor Kai were here to witness my misery. They would never let me hear the end of it. Neither would Roman, but I didn’t have to see him every week.

“If you ever see me this torn up over a woman, shoot me,” he said after my fifth shot. “It’s pathetic.”

Definitely not the comfort-others type.

“You mean like the time you cried when Melody Kettler dumped you to date that exchange student from Sweden?” I wasn’t above firing shots from old weapons.

Roman’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t cry, and she didn’t dump me. We took a break.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Out of everything that’s happened, my break with Melody Kettler is the least likely to keep me awake.” He finished his drink. “Trust me.”

My lighter clicked in time with my heartbeats. I’d taken it out when I sat down, but I hated seeing something so beautiful in a place so ugly.

Out of everything that’s happened. It’d been fifteen years. I couldn’t imagine the things Roman had seen and done. “How bad was juvie?”

“It could’ve been worse.” He didn’t look at me. “How much ass did you have to kiss on your way up the ladder?”

The tension split, and a rancorous laugh rustled my throat.

Maybe it was the shots. Maybe it was the give-no-shits air permeating the bar. Whatever it was, I answered truthfully about how I’d built Davenport Capital—the networking, the knocking on doors and, yes, the ass-kissing before I secured my first investors. He shared tidbits of his life over the years—the various jobs, the scrapes with the law, and the martial arts training, which he’d put to good use during our fight, the fucker.

We weren’t who we used to be, and our relationship would never return to the way it was. But it felt good to talk to someone who knew me before everything changed, and I became someone I didn’t recognize.





CHAPTER 35



Alessandra




THE ELEVATOR DOORS SLID OPEN ON MY FLOOR.

I stepped out, my feet aching from my earlier walk to Midtown then downtown for dinner and drinks. I could’ve taken the subway or a car, but walking cleared my head. If I didn’t have time for yoga, which I’d continued after Buzios, I went outside and wandered the streets until I felt better about whatever was on my mind. These days, there was only one person who featured regularly during my wanderings.

I rounded the corner. Someone sat slumped outside my apartment, his back against the wall and his legs outstretched. A rumpled jacket lay on the floor next to him.

“Dom?”

“Hey.” He smiled up at me, his eyes glassy. “You’re back.”

“What are you doing?” I resumed my steps and stopped in front of him. I’d moved out of Sloane’s apartment and into my own at the start of the year. Thank God for that or she would’ve raised hell about this.

“I missed you.” He didn’t get up. Pink glazed the high planes of his cheekbones, and he looked so sad and forlorn it wrenched at more than a few heartstrings.

“We saw each other just a few hours ago.”

“I know.”

My pulse slowed like it had been dropped in honey. Don’t fall for it, Ále. But I couldn’t help it.

I fell again, just a little bit.

“Come on.” I reached down and pulled him up. “Let’s get you inside before someone sees you and calls the cops.” The nosy old lady in 6B would have a conniption if she spotted a drunk stranger in “her” hallway.