Page 11 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Indeed,” I say, watching her leave, hips swishing as she walks away. Her ass could do with another slap. The skirt is nothing scandalous, coming all the way down to her knees, but Ophelia always finds a way to make even the prudest of things sexual.

I clench my jaw, the sound of her heels disappearing down the corridor. She never wears anything below three inches. She was wearing a lot more than that a few minutes ago when I shoved my cock fully into her, doing what I’ve wanted to do for several months now.

They all break for me eventually. Interviewing Ophelia was a unique experience eight months ago. Women usually sit opposite me, overcompensate on the smiles and tell me everything I want to hear. Ophelia made it seem like she had options, narrowing her eyes at me, asking me the questions.

“I would like to make sure this role is a good fit for me, sir.”

I knew it would be an excellent fit, very snug.

I hired her because of her references. I knew she would do a good job for me. My last assistant struggled to keep up with my schedule, the one he wrote for me. Ophelia never misses a thing, not even my eyes when she catches me watching her across the room.

But people can only hold up their guard for so long before it breaks. Sexual desire is a very powerful thing in this world and can do more damage than a gun. Acknowledging a spark is better than choosing to ignore it, because the spark will explode either way, a ticking time bomb. It’s better for it to be contained, hence why I asked Ophelia to clean me up today.

I’m shuffling some paperwork around on my desk, trailing my finger over the wet spot where Miss Bennett left her mark, when the door flies open.

“Robert,” I sigh, disappointed to be in the company of my younger cousin, not my pretty little assistant. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The pleasure looks like it’s all yours.” Robert looks down at me pointedly. “Congratulations on finally nailing Ophelia.”

I grip the edge of the desk. “Tell me how you know.”

“It was a guess,” says Robert, a smirk crawling onto my face. “I guess I was right.” He steps into the office, shutting the door behind him. “Tell me how it was. Spare no details.”

“I’m sparing all details. She’s my assistant, not yours.”

“And you were nowhere to be seen in conference room four,” says Robert, pinning me a glare across the room. “Is her pussy worth missing important meetings for?”

“Yes,” I deadpan, keeping my eyes on him. “You like talking. I’m sure running the meeting was no skin off your back.”

“If this continues, it will be skin off everyone’s back. You know, if the leader of the Moretti syndicate is missing important meetings to fuck his assistant.” Robert scans me from head-to-toe like I’m employed under him, not the other way around. “Be careful who you show that tattoo to.”

“Of course,” I deadpan, circling around my desk. “I forget the Crows are the most powerful organized crime group in the entire city. So powerful they ran out of gas the second their leader died.”

“You don’t know who could have connections to them still.”

“Ophelia sure looks like she has connections with her fair complexion and blonde hair. The girl has never touched a drop of darkness in her life.”

“And you just gave her a first taste.”

“Lucky her.”

Robert looks out at the city, his back turned away from me. “The organization might be dismantled, but Crows are still circling, and we have no idea who they could be connected to.”

“The dead.”

“No,” counters Robert. “The living. A lot of the boys went on to create their own success, becoming powerful men, leaders in their own right, but you and I both know there were boys among us who tried stitching Crows back together after Renato died, making the organization their own.”

“They tried and failed,” I remind Robert, heading to the door. “Nostalgia is a feeling, not a resource. You can’t build anything substantial based on feeling alone,” I say, opening the door. “Besides, even if old Crows want to establish something, they need my help.”

“Not necessarily. You’d be their biggest threat.”

I snap my fingers, gesturing Robert out so I can lock up.

He slides past me in the doorway, regarding me. “When different forms of power exist in the same city, wars start.”

“Enough of the precautionary tales. Catch me up on business or take the next elevator. I would much rather listen to silence than you blabber on about things we left behind in the past.”

“Well,” says Robert, walking into the elevator with me. “I wouldn’t speak too soon. One of the gentlemen in sales may need to be eliminated. Wilson was overheard by an enforcer, speculating about you being in the Italian mafia.”