Page 32 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

The lines between the man’s brows deepen as he continues watching me. “This city might not have your best interests at heart, but I do.”

Says a man wearing one of the most expensive watches you can buy on the market.

“My name is Renato Vieri,” he says. “What if you can have shelter, a bed to sleep in every night, food, unlimited water, without being government property?”

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” says the man, flashing me his watch, the gold strap winking in the light again. “Nothing is impossible, boy. Living on the streets in the middle of winter means you’ve already been through the worst. Life is hard, but pain produces the strongest soldiers.”

“The military has never interested me.”

“Good. It has never interested me either. Following strict regimes and following orders only interests people who have never been through what we have.” He hesitates. “Do you have parents, boy?”

“In Italy, but airplane tickets are expensive, and I sacrificed my phone bills a long time ago for food.”

The man nods, understanding. “You do what you have to in order to survive.” Renato dips his hand into his pocket, pulling something out, passing it to me.

I inspect the image—a photograph of a train station.

“Where is this?”

“Look closer,” encourages the man. “Look at what is standing on the tracks.”

I raise the photograph into the light, squinting. “A crow.”

“Standing on the railway with no fear. He can take flight whenever he wants to. If a human were to do that, the train would run them over for being too slow.”

“Okay,” I respond, mentally putting this homeless dude in the crazy category.

“In ancient mythology,” continues the man, “crows symbolize rebirth. They are intelligent, problem-solving creatures, and despite being scavengers, they should not be underestimated. They land in places that have already ended,” he says, gesturing to the homeless shelter behind us. “They feed off decay and turn it into something new, showing up during times of change, ruling the sky with their menacing caw. These birds show up in spaces where most people are afraid to go. Change is already in motion, son. We have the power to knock the ladder where the rich people are all sitting. Existing at the bottom of society is our power, son. You cannot knock something when it is already on the ground. But these people in power, these politicians, these celebrity billionaires with too much wealth and not enough brain cells? They have a long way to fall when we shake the ladder.”

10

OPHELIA

Strutting into Salvatore’s office the following morning, I realize the A4 sheet of paper on the cabinet is missing.

“Something the matter, Miss Bennett?” he says, rising from his desk to greet me.

“No, nothing,” I squeak, pulling up a chair at his desk, rifling through notes. “You have a meeting at the stock exchange in half an hour,” I remind him, scanning my notes for further details. “The meeting should be forty-five minutes long. Refreshments provided.”

“Are you provided?” he teases, glancing over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Uh, no, sir, I’m staying here.”

“I would like you to accompany me.”

I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder, registering the missing document. “I have a busy schedule today myself, sir. I should stay here and make sure things are up to date. Your meeting planners don’t write themselves.”

“Very well,” he says, finishing the rest of his coffee and grabbing his suit jacket, the one slung over the back of his chair. He steps away from the desk, pausing in the middle of the room to take in my form. “That black dress looks exceptional on you, Miss Bennett.”

One compliment and I already feel my cheeks flushing red. Damn him.

“Thanks, sir,” I mutter sheepishly, glancing at the floor.

Mr. Moretti strides toward me, hooking his finger under my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Remember what I said about those cheeks, sweet dear. Control yourself. Deep breaths.”

Controlling myself is hard when all I can think about is the way he trained my breathing yesterday with those expert fingers, pumping them in and out, in and⁠—