Page 15 of Lethal King

“If I’m not desperate for a woman, then how else am I going to force myself to do what needs to be done?”

“You don’t need to do anything right now but walk downstairs and accept the crown.”

“I need to do my duty!” I boom, the weight of my responsibility cracking ever so slightly. “I need to do it so that dad doesn’t have to deal with the stress of an unstable empire. So that he can concentrate on his problems while I solve mine. So that my sister, my cousins, and my aunts and uncles can sleep easily at night, knowing that I have everything under control.”

“When’s the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

“A king never rests.”

Maksim only sighs at that claim. “You have so much to learn, my—”

“Hey, thanks for your help, guys!”

Mel’s tiny voice cuts through the thick air like a knife.

Unfurling my fist, I run a hand through my hair and watch as my little sister waddles back through the doorway, her slight body almost entirely covered by the backside of a massive canvas.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I mumble to Maksim.

He bites his tongue, then hesitantly nods, all while stroking a gentle finger over the kitten’s forehead.

“Hold this thing, will you,” he asks. “I’ll help your sister.”

Before I can refuse, the tiny puff of black fur is pushed over my desk, towards me. Maksim is already turning to help Mel when I reluctantly reach out and take the thing. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” I grumble, grabbing it by the scruff.

“Love it,” Mel orders from behind the canvas.

Maksim helps her set it down as I lift the kitten and turn it around.

To my surprise, it doesn’t hiss at me. Instead, those big yellow glare past me, towards the vine-covered window. It already looks fed up with all of this shit.

“You and me both, little fella,” I mutter.

“It’s a girl,” Mel is quick to point out.

“What did the Italians name her again?” Maksim asks, resting a steadying hand on top of Mel’s gift.

“The Bitch,” my sister sneers. “Excuse my language, but those people are fucking barbarians.”

“That’s no way to talk about our allies,” I reply, unable to hold back my smirk.

At least we agree on one thing.

“Your brother’s right,” Maksim echoes. “No matter what you think of them, we need to keep the men downstairs happy. The basis of our entire east-coast operation relies on their local connections and day-to-day labor.”

“They‘re the ones who need to keep us happy,” Mel snips back, disgusted.

"You’re both right,” I acknowledge. Staring down at the kitten, I give it a quick look-over. “So, I gather this thing is supposed to be a gift from one of the dons?”

“Not a gift,” Mel hisses. “A sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” I repeat, momentarily confused. Then, it all clicks into place.

Those fuckers.

“I overheard Don Sabatino bragging about it,” Mel snarls. “The drunkard told everyone how he planned to drag the poor thing into your throne room before the ceremony. When you arrived, he’d make his toast, a solemn vow to help destroy all of your enemies—including the one who’s been causing you the most trouble lately.”

“Rozalia Dorn,” I growl.