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

“Missed me?” Amusement lengthened his drawl.

“As much as a sailor misses scurvy.”

Surprise burst through me at his laugh. Not a chuckle, not a scoff, but an honest-to-God laugh.

The rich sound filled the car and seeped beneath my skin, where it transformed into a bloom of pleasure.

“You truly come up with the most flattering comparisons.” His dry tone contrasted with the sparkle in his eyes.

My stomach swooped like I’d just plunged down the slope of a rollercoaster.

The sight of a laughing, unguarded Dante was utterly catastrophic for my ovaries.

“It’s a talent I honed growing up.” I tried to focus past my body’s unwilling and, frankly, annoying reaction to a simple laugh. “During boring social events, my sister and I played a game where we had to come up with a good animal comparison for each guest. Alice Fong was a rabbit because she only ate salads and was constantly twitching her nose. Bryce Collins was a donkey because, well, he was a stubborn ass. So on and so forth.”

My cheeks heated. “It sounds silly, but it helped us pass the time.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Dante leaned back, the picture of casual insouciance. “What would you liken me to?”

A dragon.

Glorious in his power, terrifying in his anger, and magnificent even in repose.

“If you’d asked me before our truce, I would’ve said an ill-mannered boar,” I said instead. “Since we’re being nice, I’ll upgrade you to a honey badger.”

“The most fearless animal in the world. I’ll take it.”

I blinked at how well he took it. Most people would not appreciate being compared to a honey badger.

“To answer your earlier question, work has been…aggravating.” Dante’s cufflinks glinted in the light from a passing streetlamp. Silver, elegant, stamped with the letter V. “The deal I’m working on is a pain in the ass, but I’m flying to California on Tuesday to hopefully close it.”

“The Santeri deal?” I’d read about it in the news.

One eyebrow rose. “Yes.”

“You’ll get it done. You’ve never lost out on an acquisition before.”

His answering smile could’ve melted butter. “I appreciate your faith in me, mia cara.”

Warmth spread through me like wildfire.

Dante’s voice and use of the term mia cara should be outlawed. They were too lethal to unleash on an unsuspecting female population.

“How was Tippy Darlington’s birthday?” he asked casually. “Buffy happy?”

Another tendril of surprise snaked through my chest. I’d mentioned the party to him in passing only once, weeks ago. I couldn’t believe he remembered.

“It went well. Buffy is thrilled.”

“Good.”

I suppressed a smile as I turned and stared out the window. The question about the Darlingtons made me oddly happy.

Friday night Manhattan traffic was a nightmare, but eventually, we broke through the gridlock and pulled up to a pair of giant black iron gates flanked by stone guardhouses.

Dante flashed his chip-embedded invitation and membership card at one of the stoic-faced guards. The guard typed something on his computer, and a full thirty seconds passed before the gates slid open with a smooth electronic whir.

“Car and biometric scans,” Dante said in reply to my questioning stare. “Every person and vehicle who wants access to the property is registered in the club’s in-house system, including staff and contractors. If someone attempts to enter without proper authorization once, they’ll be turned away with a stern warning. If they attempt twice…” An elegant shrug. “There won’t be a third time.”

I chose not to ask what he meant.

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

We drove down a winding road lit by hundreds of glowing lanterns in the trees. I felt like we were at a country estate instead of upper Manhattan.

How could such a place exist in the middle of the city?

Whoever built it must have sunk a fortune into buying all the land and permits necessary to create a veritable private oasis on some of the most coveted real estate in the country.

I grew up surrounded by wealth, but this was on another level.

“Don’t be nervous.” Dante’s gruff voice interrupted my musings. “It’s just a party.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your knuckles are white.”

I looked down at where I clutched my knee in a death grip. My knuckles were, indeed, white.

I relaxed them, only for my knee to bounce with anticipation instead.

Dante closed his hand over mine and pressed it against my thigh, forcing me to still.

A rush of awareness shot through me and narrowed in on the sight of his hand swallowing mine. His grip was firm but surprisingly gentle, and after a moment of frozen surprise, I chanced a peek at him.

Dante stared straight ahead, his profile like granite. He looked bored, almost distracted, but the reassuring strength of his touch melted the edges of my rising anxiety.

My heartbeats gradually slowed as the trees cleared and the Valhalla Club itself came into view.

My breath whooshed out in one soft gasp.

Wow.

I shouldn’t have expected any less, but Valhalla was an absolute masterpiece of architecture. The elegant, neoclassical main building stretched over four stories and an entire city block. Soft floodlights illuminated its grand white exterior, and an opulent crimson carpet covered the stairs leading up to the double-height entrance.