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

“God, I’ve missed this city.” I wouldn’t live here again. I’d outgrown what DC could offer, personally and professionally, but being back was like slipping into a beloved, worn pair of jeans.

Dominic drew me closer to his side and kissed the top of my head. “We can visit any time you like.”

This close to sunset, the waterfront was filled with people. Students, couples, and families thronged the benches, but one particular family drew my eye. The couple was young, likely in their mid-twenties, and they looked blissfully happy as they cooed at the baby sitting in the mother’s lap.

Longing gripped me so fiercely and suddenly it brought me to a standstill.

Dominic and I hadn’t talked about children since we agreed we both wanted them one day. That’d been at the start of our marriage. So much had changed since then, but I still wanted a family—with him. Only him.

Dominic followed my gaze. “Cute kid,” he said softly.

“Yeah.” I swallowed past a sharp ache. He hadn’t pushed me to take things further or faster than I was comfortable with. We were exclusive now, but I suspected he wasn’t sure if I wanted to get married again one day. “Ours will be cuter.”

His gaze snapped to mine. I could see the moment the implication behind my words sank in because his mouth blossomed with the tenderest, most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.

“Yes, amor,” he said. “They will.”





EPILOGUE



Dominic





Four months later


THAT SUMMER, ALESSANDRA AND I MOVED IN TOGETHER. She broke her lease early and I sold the penthouse in favor of a brownstone nestled in the heart of the West Village. It was massive, boasting four stories, a rooftop deck, and a medium-sized backyard (which was a luxury and a half in Manhattan), but it still had a cozier vibe than our old home.

We brought Camila and the rest of our household staff with us. Camila had been skeptical of the move, but once she saw the kitchen, which was even bigger than the one in the penthouse, she was all in. Despite her initial grumblings, I suspected she was so happy we were back together that she would’ve moved with us to a shack in the woods if we’d asked her to. She treated Alessandra like a surrogate daughter, and her patience with my divorce-induced mood swings had run thin.

After we closed on the house, Alessandra and I hired an interior design consultant but decorated most of it ourselves. For once, I worried less about buying the most expensive items and more about what fit with our lives.

Our foyer boasted fresh flowers and graceful trinkets instead of the priceless but somewhat terrifying marble bust I’d successfully bid on in a Sotheby’s auction, and Alessandra talked me out of building a miniature golf course in the backyard simply because I could. Neither of us even liked mini golf.

Fortunately, she’d acquiesced to a rooftop hot tub and the construction of a private elevator. There was only so much I was willing to give up when it came to luxuries.

I did, however, also donate a vast sum of money for the establishment and maintenance of the Ehrlich Scholarship Fund at Thayer University. The need-based scholarships would offer full rides to a dozen incoming students every year starting this fall. Professor Ehrlich had been an avid fan of mini golf, but I suspected that if he were alive, he would’ve liked the scholarships even more.

Sometimes, I missed the penthouse and what it represented—the first big sign that I’d made it, whatever it was—but that house had been for me. This house was for us, and it was time I made it official.

“Dom?” Alessandra’s voice floated from deep within the entrance. “Are you home?”

“In the garden!” I called out. Sweat slicked my palm, which was ridiculous. I’d done this before, but when it came to Alessandra, every time felt like the first time for everything.

I would never look at her and not marvel at the fact she was mine. I would never think about how close I’d come to losing her and not thank God she came back to me. I would never kiss her and take the opportunity for granted again.

She appeared at the back door, her hair shining beneath a dapple of sunlight. She’d had brunch with her friends that morning, and her cheeks glowed with a wash of pink.

“No offense, babe, but I hope you’re not trying to garden again.” Alessandra slid the glass door closed behind her and eyed her beloved flowers with suspicion. “Remember when you almost killed my New England aster?”

Floria Designs was thriving both online and in its physical store, which meant it needed more inventory. She sourced most of the blooms for her business from suppliers, but she’d also started growing her own in the garden we’d installed in lieu of the mini golf course.

The café and gallery/flower shop concept was a huge hit, and though I hated Aiden’s continued presence in her life—no New York landlord checked on their tenants that often without hidden motives—I loved seeing her happy. It was the only reason I hadn’t bought his company out from under him. For some reason, Alessandra considered him a friend, and she would not be happy if I pulled that stunt.

“New England aster...was that the purple or pink one? I’m kidding.” I laughed at her glare. “I know better than to touch your asters again. In my defense, the shears slipped. It was an accident.”

“Sure. Ask the poor flowers if they care,” she said with a playful huff.