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“I can help you,” Adrian states.
I hate that word, ‘help’. It only comes into play at the sign of weakness. I’m not fucking weak.
“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t want the throne for yourself?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m better suited to the sidelines instead of leadership.”
Bullshit. Every man wants power.
“Or maybe I do want it,” he says honestly. “The question is, what am I going to do to get it? With Valerio close to his death, how many made men do you think are asking themselves that? It’s intriguing, isn’t it? How quickly the balance of power could shift.”
I refuse to let him see that his words affect me. But they do strike a chord within me. They harden my resolve to do whatever it takes to secure my position. I fucking earned the right to sit on that throne.
Fifteen years working in the outfit. I have done everything to gain Valerio’s trust. No one deserves it more than me.
“It’s not about what you’re owed, Ramirez,” Adrian says, and I hate that he’s somehow seeing into my head. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll snag a princess and take the throne for myself.”
That fucking does it. My hands ball into fists.
“What did you just say?” I ask in a deceptively calm tone.
“I said I would snag myself a princess. It’d be the quickest way to establish myself in the outfit. But the princesses are missing, aren’t they? In hiding. How long do you think that’s going to last?”
That motherfucker. He’s baiting me.
“Are you asking me if I know where they are?” I say, forcing a bored tone into my voice.
“I know you know where they are,” he returns. “You have an arsenal at your disposal, Ramirez. Use it.”
And with those words, he gets to his feet. I watch him leave, realizing for the first time that he’s more dangerous than he lets on. He could pose problems for me in the future. Oddly enough, he gained a modicum of respect from me simply because he’s potentially so dangerous. At the very least, I know he’s not stupid.
Despite that though, his words have left me uneasy. My thoughts stray towards the Maranzano princesses. No one has seen them in years. Not since they left the mafia world, swearing never to return.
But it seems they’re about to be brought back into it against their will. And that does not bode well for me at all. Especially considering the last thing Aurora Maranzano said to me was that she hoped I would drop dead in a ditch.
She hates me. And she hates everything I stand for. The feeling is decidedly mutual. I could live the rest of my life without having to see her again.
But I’m not deluded enough to think that’ll be possible. There’s a war coming, and I have a feeling she’s going to be right in the middle of it.
CHAPTER 3
AURORA
Iclutch the blanket to my chest as I slide out of bed, careful not to wake him. Although I doubt I could. He’s fast asleep, his deep breaths a cross between a snore and a grunt. I didn’t mean to sleep over. I almost never sleep in a bed that isn’t my own.
But yesterday, I was filled with a deep-seated frustration. And I went in search of some release. Killian was all too happy to provide it. And I must have fallen asleep right after. My gaze trails over his naked body.
He has tufts of black hair on his chest, long limbs, and muscular arms. He works out a lot, which is to be expected, considering he’s a personal trainer. It’s how we met, actually.
I signed up at the gym he works at as a trainer. During one of our sessions, his hands slid a little too low down my chest. I should have punched him for it. But he didn’t even seem apologetic about it. He offered me a charming smile instead and asked if I’d like to go out for dinner.
I liked that—his audacity. And his confidence. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s good-looking in a boyish sort of way, with his shaggy, long black hair and baby-blue eyes. We’ve been doing this thing for a couple of months now. Sleeping together, walking on the edge between dating and not dating. And honestly, I’ve grown bored.
It’s a realization I’ve only just come to now. Yesterday, I was happy to come here and let him fuck my brains out.
Now, I'm just done. I dress quickly and slip out of his bedroom, only to spot a pair of heels I hadn’t noticed last night. Ignoring them, I move into the open area, serving as his living room and kitchen.
It’s a studio apartment in a dilapidated part of town. Killian always likes to talk about how he’s only down on his luck right now and will soon be making enough money to live in one of those rich neighborhoods.
