King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

I put on my earrings in silence, but a flutter of nerves cascaded through my stomach.

She made a good point. I’d been so focused on planning the actual wedding I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after.

The marriage bed. The honeymoon. The heat of Dante’s naked torso against mine and his mouth—

My throat dried, and I banished the X-rated mental image to the darkest recesses of my mind before it took root.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I said in a hopefully convincing tone. “We barely know each other.”

My truce with Dante had held up surprisingly well since our late-night snack rendezvous last week, but despite the occasional conversation when we were both home—a rare occurrence given our busy schedules—my future husband remained an enigma.

“No better night to get to know each other than tonight.” Isabella leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. A mischievous glint lit her eyes. “There are plenty of sexy nooks and crannies at the club.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken advantage of those already. It’s only been…” I mentally calculated how long she’d been working at Valhalla. “Three weeks.”

“Of course not.” She dropped her arms. “It’s against the rules to fraternize with members. I’m all for rule-breaking, but this is the best job I’ve had in years. I’m not losing it so I can be a notch in some rich guy’s bedpost, no matter how hot he is.”

Her expression flickered before it brightened again. “Fucking or no fucking, I can’t wait for you to see the place. It’s absolutely bonkers. The entry hall floor is inlaid with solid twenty-four karat gold, and there’s a rooftop helipad with a helicopter rental service that’ll fly you anywhere within the tristate area for lunch…”

She continued describing Valhalla’s amenities in detail.

I smiled at Isabella’s enthusiasm even as nerves invaded my stomach.

Tonight was my official society debut as Dante Russo’s fiancée.

Our engagement party didn’t count; that had been a private affair attended by friends and family. The annual fall costume gala at the Valhalla Club, on the other hand, was a different matter.

I’d attended dozens of high-society events before, but I’d never been invited to Valhalla since my family weren’t members.

I was more on edge than I cared to admit, but at least Isabella would be there. She was working the second half of the gala, which meant one guaranteed friendly face.

I stayed on the phone with her for another few minutes until she left for her shift.

After I hung up, I took a deep breath, double-checked my reflection, and applied a second coat of red lipstick for extra confidence before I exited my room.

The faint sounds of Greta’s favorite Italian game show drifted from the kitchen as I walked to the foyer. She liked watching TV while cooking and said Dante had installed the kitchen’s small flat-screen for her when she started working for him. He’d threatened to remove it if any of her meals weren’t up to par, but no one took his threats seriously.

He was ruthless with outsiders, but he treated his staff like family, albeit one he kept at an arm’s length and had extremely high expectations of.

My stomach dipped when he came into view.

Dante waited in the foyer, his head bent over his phone. He’d adhered to the gala’s 1920s theme with his trademark precision: sleek three-piece charcoal tweed suit, matching newsboy cap, signature frown.

“If you keep scowling, your face will freeze that way.” I attempted a light tone, but it came out embarrassingly breathy.

His eyes flicked up. “Very f—” The abrupt break in his sentence charged the air, as sudden and devastating as a lightning strike.

My steps faltered, then halted altogether.

Every nerve ending sparked with awareness, sending goosebumps down my spine and oxygen out of my lungs as our gazes met.

Dante didn’t take his eyes off mine, but his attention somehow touched every inch of my body until it came alive, like a black and white film thrown into technicolor.

“You look…” He paused, an unidentifiable emotion passing over his face. “Nice.”

The dark, velvety pitch of the word nice sent a thrill through my veins.

The mirror next to him reflected what he saw—an ivory beaded lace gown that bared my back and shoulders and fell to my thighs in a graceful line. Intricate, thickly woven patterns over strategic areas saved the dress from being completely see-through, but it would’ve still bordered on scandalous had it not been for the elegant cut.

The outfit bared miles of skin and made me look almost naked from a distance, but one didn’t dress to blend into the surroundings at Valhalla.

They dressed to stand out.

“Thank you.” I swallowed my hoarseness and tried again. “So do you. The twenties suit you.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Thank you.”

He held out his arm. After a brief hesitation, I took it.

Silence wrapped around us as we took the elevator to the lobby and slid into the backseat of the waiting Rolls-Royce.

I smoothed a hand over my skirt, unsure what else to do.

“How’s work?” I asked when the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. “I’ve barely seen you all week.”