Page 62 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“What happened to you calling me ‘sir?’”

“I think we’re way past the point of professionalism.”

“Are we?” teases Salvatore, sitting back into his seat. “People live, others die. Sometimes, there is nothing we can do.”

“For a start, I should have ignored you and helped that person on the floor.”

“Who was already dead.” Salvatore stares dead into my eyes, contemplating something. “You cannot save the deceased, Sunshine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Salvatore looks over my outfit, paying particular attention to my heels.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my place.”

“I don’t think we should⁠—”

“You know too much about the Crows, sweetheart, and the new leader is coming after you. Sniffing around Queens, visiting an investigative journalist and being my assistant, along with my supposed lover, puts you in danger. The attack last night was personal. The new leader killed my employees because he is warning me, showing me a taste of what is to come.”

“And what is that?”

“He will destroy Moretti Global, along with other… things.”

“Like?”

Salvatore glances at me sidelong, grinding his jaw. “My business is a front. And, as I said last night, if someone knocks me, I have a very long way to fall. And I want you nowhere near me when that fall happens, because you will get hurt.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do…” Salvatore trails off. “Besides, sweetheart, you have been digging. Last night’s attack has complicated everything. You are in danger, which means you need to stay where it’s safe.”

“And where is that?”

“Right by my side.”

The driver kills the engine as we arrive at our destination.

Salvatore kicks open the door, handing the driver a ridiculous amount of cash. After paying the driver, he circles around the vehicle, opening the car door for me, offering out his hand.

I tremble, suddenly realizing how personal this is getting.

I accept his hand, his rough skin bristling my palm as we lace hands, heading inside together.

At least in Moretti Global, I got to be someone different. Walking into his penthouse apartment, I no longer feel like his assistant, like someone special.

I just feel like another girl he’s bringing home.

19

SALVATORE

Ophelia walks into my penthouse, keeping her eyes low.

“Here,” I say, guiding her over to the window. “You should take a look at Central Park from this angle.”

“Why?” she says. “So you can tell me how far down the drop is?”