Page 26 of Venomous Throne

I had an empire to seize, and after that, I had to fight like hell to keep it. There was no place for mysterious strangers who brought cheesecake and did the dishes.

I glanced at the neat pile by the sink. The way the dishes were every morning after I tore my eyelids open and wandered down here in search of coffee to keep back the hangovers.

“No….” I shook my head. “No way.”

But I was fairly certain that I’d closed the gate and set the alarm. Yet he’d been at the back door, waiting to be let inside.

***

“There’s a good reason you don’t cook, Isabella,” I muttered, looking at the doughy yet burning biscuits.

“If you focused on learning—”

“Shut up,” I snapped at the mental voice that sounded a lot like my mother-in-law. “I had other things to do rather than cook and clean!”

The soup was easy enough to assemble. It came from the frozen section and was now neatly packed in twenty containers. But I wanted to do something extra for the families who needed it. Deciding to try either cookies or biscuits from scratch, I settled on the one and bought the other.

Now I regretted that decision.

The bell for the front gate chimed. I glanced over my shoulder, heart thumping in anticipation.

Which was quickly dashed when I saw the two black sedans. It had been three days, the cheesecake was gone, and there was no sign of my somber neighbor.

I pressed the intercom. “Hello!”

“Isabella, open up.” Marco’s voice brooked no argument.

They would only storm inside if I denied access. Lifting a quick intercession for safety to the angels, I tapped in the code. The gate lifted, and the vehicles rushed into the drive.

Going to the front door, I unlocked and opened it.

“Hi guys, what an unexpected surprise,” I called out, keeping my voice cheery. He’d already sent a half-hearted apology via text message for his behavior at the bar. He even went as far as blaming me for the misunderstanding.

The narcissistic pig—just like his brother.

Marco slid a lingering look over my black cargo pants, the sturdy boots, and the tee that hugged what little curves I had.

“Is that any way to greet family?” He smirked. “Come on down and give me a kiss.”

The fucker.

I slogged down to the bottom step and gave him a chaste, brotherly peck.

Marco slid his arm around my shoulders and marched me back inside. His men followed like a horde of goblins. If they had clubs and spikes and were dragging their loot bags on the ground, it would have been a perfect match for their personalities.

I disentangled myself with an excuse about the oven. The space wasn’t far enough.

“I’m checking up on you,” Marco said, scanning the house like he owned it. Maybe in his mind, he already did. “Making sure you’re not up to any mischief.”

His goons spread out through my living room, touching things that didn’t belong to them. One picked up a framed photo of my parents, and another examined the crystal decanter set my godfather, Antonio, had brought back from Italy.

“Mischief would be stabbing you in the eye,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Marco stepped behind me, peering into the oven. He cursed in Italian at the disaster on the baking sheet.

“I said I’m glad you dropped by,” I lied smoothly. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Poison, perhaps?