Page 13 of Lethal King

“You could have refused.”

“No. I couldn’t have.” Shaking my head, I turn to gaze out of my office window.

Ancient vines crawl over the glass, obscuring the view outside, but I can still see what awaits me on the carefully manicured lawn below.

It makes my headache even worse.

Strangers. A crowd filled with them. Their low incessant chatter creeps up through my brick walls.

Sure, I know each face by heart. I can recite the family lineage of each Italian Don. I can tell you how many kills each soldier has; how much dirty money every crooked businessman brings in. But they make me feel nothing.

When I look at them, I feel frigid. Ruthless. Distant.

Without my family in attendance, this coronation is nothing more than a cold formality—and an unnecessary one at that.

We all know who’s king now.

Me.

But Dad insisted I go through with this charade. He told me how honored my esteemed guests would feel to be part of my historic ascension. How this gesture would help me win them over.

But I hardly care about big picture shit like that. If I had a choice, I’d be in the streets right now.

I like to feel the heat of my smoking gun. I want to see the steam rise from a fresh kill. I need to hunt, to personally beat my enemy into the ground. Even if that’s not what a king does.

“A man as powerful as you always has a choice,” Maksim tells me.

A deep breath fills my lungs. A sneer twitches my lips.

“You’re right,” I grumble. “My choice was simple. Abandon my family in their time of need, or step up to the occasion and become what I was meant to be.”

“A king.”

“A king,” I quietly echo. “But I’m not ready to be a king.”

“Agreed.”

Maksim’s harsh claim whips me back from the window. Usually, my uncle isn’t so direct. It catches me off guard.

“So, what the hell am I doing here?” I ask, trying to hide the offense I’ve taken to his remark.

“You’re being brave… and stupid, as usual.”

“Would it be smarter to abandon my duties?”

“It would be smarter to concentrate on one thing at a time.”

Holding the restless kitten close to his chest, Maksim steps forward.

“That’s what I’m doing,” I lie.

But there’s no fooling the seasoned consigliere.

“Do me a favor,” he calmly responds. “Look back out that window, and tell me what you see.”

“Strangers,” I immediately huff.

“Rian.”