Page 165 of Lethal King

I’m about to turn my back on them when something stops me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bar clock strike 8:57 pm. But it’s not the time that makes my stomach drop. It’s what’s on the television beneath it.

“… Dad?”

Adriano starts to apologize, but his words fade into the background as I concentrate on the screen.

Clear as day, I see my father.

It looks like he’s on the steps of a federal courthouse. Cameras flash in his face. A dozen microphones are pushed towards him.

My chest flexes. My heart clamps up. The heavy pounding of my angry pulse quickens into an anxious rhythm.

Still, Dad looks completely composed—even as a strong wind blows back his salt and pepper hair and the black bar at the bottom of the screen races to keep up with all the questions he’s being asked.

My fingers curl into fists.

Shit. Was his first official deposition today? I know my family has purposely been trying to keep me away from that shit, but how did I not pick up on it?

More guilt rages through me as I watch him calmly take on the world, doing whatever it takes to protect his family and his empire.

Anger rejoins my guilt. I want to jump through the screen and wring those reporters around the neck. Don’t they know who they’re talking to?

That’s the true king of the underworld. They need to show him some respect.

Fuck. I should have shown him some respect. At the very least, I could have tried to get hold of my dad before today. I should have wished him luck and reassured him that everything was going alright on my end.

I should have lied.

But I’ve been so stuck in my own head, fighting against my own problems, that I haven’t—

“Cowardly feds,” Leo Camporese hisses, snapping me out of my daze.

“Couldn’t let one of us get too powerful,” Sabatino agrees. “As if we were ever a real threat to the US government. Really, the fuckers should be thanking your dad for keeping the streets under control.”

Both men are also glaring up at the TV. I can’t quite tell if they’re putting on a show for my sake, or if they’re actually pissed at the treatment my father is receiving.

Neither option is exactly comforting.

Either they’re secretly hoping for my father’s downfall, or they actually respect him enough to defend his decisions.

But when have they ever defended my decisions? Hell, they still haven’t accepted my very public decision to marry our sworn enemy, even though I announced it directly to their faces. It doesn’t matter if they don’t understand it, they should follow their leader.

I guess I haven’t earned their respect yet.

My rage turns inwards.

That’s my fault.

Ripping myself away from the TV, I stare out across the busy dining hall—I’m immediately met by another surprising sight.

My empty table isn’t so empty anymore.

A stunning beauty in a sleek red dress fills one of our two seats.

Rozalia.

She’s here. And when our eyes meet, she gives me a wicked grin and points down at her wrist. There’s no watch there, but I get the message.