Page 21 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The Lamborghini handles like a beast, all muscle and rage beneath me as I tear down the highway toward Edoardo's estate. Izzy's car—not mine—purrs like it knows who's in charge now.

What a fucking clusterfuck. That mall trip should've been a routine errand, a bit of luxury, a show of power, a few hours where the girls could breathe. But I should've known better. Should've seen it coming the moment Izzy asked to go.

Roberto's not subtle when he's pissed. And he was always going to retaliate after what happened at the estate.

I just didn't expect him to move this fast, or this publicly.

That's on me. I gave them the illusion of safety too soon.

Let my guard down. Let them out. And now Cat's got bruises, Izzy's rattled, and several of my men are dead.

This is my mess. And I'm going to clean it in blood.

My hands grip the steering wheel hard, and I imagine it's Roberto's throat—the bastard. My sister nearly got killed twice in less than twenty-four hours, and I'm willing to bet that he had his dirty hands in it both times.

I've already checked the security cameras twice.

Catalina and Izzy are safe inside my mansion.

Dante is there too. Between him and Manollo, I'm sure they'll be kept safe.

I have other plans for Silvano. But first, I need to make another call.

I've got business to finish. Too much business for one day.

I hit the button on the steering wheel and bark, "Call Marcello." His family controls loan sharking and extortion in our organization, which makes Kingsley a perfect payoff for Marcello.

It rings once. "Happy early birthday," I say the moment he picks up. "I have a gift for you," I elaborate.

A short pause follows. I imagine him creasing his brows. "What kind of gift?"

"Senator Kingsley," I say. "Gift-wrapped and waiting. I'll send you the coordinates. I'll also send you a video of him being a naughty coward who likes to beat women. He's all yours. Just make sure he knows first what happens when he hurts a woman."

I don't know Marcello well, or at all, but between all of us, there's always been this unspoken rule about not harming women. This is a good time to find out where he stands on this issue.

A low chuckle that promises pain for Kingsley comes through the speakers of the Lambo. "You do know my birthday is not for another six months."

"Hmm, my assistant must have forgotten," I deadpan. "My bad. Do you want him?"

"Does he have a bow tied to his neck?"

I like how our conversation is getting easier. A rapport is slowly building between us. It's too early to call it trust, but it's something—a thread. What kind, we'll have to find out. In our world, a thread can be the start of a noose—or a bond. Depends on how you pull it.

"Red satin," I say dryly. "Thought it'd bring out the coward in his eyes."

Marcello exhales a low laugh. "Text me the location and the footage. I'll make sure he understands the consequences… personally."

"Good." I pause, just long enough to make sure he knows I'm serious. "Make it slow."

"Always do."

The line goes dead. I should be satisfied with having added a sitting US senator to our asset list, but too much bile is still churning my gut from unrestrained fury at Roberto to enjoy the moment.

Next, I dial Silvano. He answers with the question I expected. He already knows about the mall and that the girls are safe. "What do you need?"

"You're meeting Marcello at the Valente in a few minutes." I might have predicted his words, but he sure as hell didn't see my answer coming. The silence that follows is a good indication of it. I'm giving him time to digest the news.

"You're giving him Kingsley?" he barks, disgusted.

"I am."

"That son of a bitch nearly killed Barbie. He should already be dead."

"I agree," I respond calmly. "Every other bastard would be, but unfortunately, a senator is just too valuable to pass up.

Marcello will know how to keep him in line.

Trust me, that bastard won't have another happy second in his life.

Plus, now I'm in the clear with Marcello. I don't owe him shit anymore."

Another beat of silence follows. Then Silvano exhales, suppressing a slight chuckle, realizing what giving Kingsley to Marcello will do for us, besides paying off a debt. It could be the beginning of gaining another valuable asset in the long game. "You manipulative bastard."

"I learned from the best," I murmur, because it's true. My father raised us all to trade flesh for power, secrets for currency. This is just me refining the technique.

"Oh, and tie a red ribbon around his neck. I promised Marcello."

His laugh bursts through the line, dark and grudging. "You're a genius and an asshole."

"Not mutually exclusive."

"Marcello better make that asshole scream," he mutters. "I want to hear it."

"He will," I assure him.

I hang up and pull through the last curve in the drive as Edoardo's estate rises in front of me like some baroque fortress. Stone and steel and stained glass. A monument to power or, at least, the illusion of it.

Large iron gates are closed and guarded by six men, all wearing machine guns.

I grind my jaw, slow the car down, and roll down my window to give them a good look at me, which probably isn't screaming trustworthy right now.

My suit is stiffening from the blood from where a bullet grazed my shoulder earlier; it probably still needs stitching.

My face is cut in several places from the flying glass and smeared with blood and dirt.

"Mister Sartori," one of the guards greets me.

"Roul," I reply, tenser than usual.

Roul waves at the others to open the gate.

"The Don is expecting you." He informs me, not saying the words that I have no trouble reading in his eyes, I doubt in that condition, though .

Too bad. The pampered bastard deserves a look at the weakness he's sowing among his capos.

He needs to see it. This is the result of his incompetence in leading our families.

I park at the top of the steps. Leave the engine running. More guards eye me, but they don't stop me. They know better.

Inside, the house is too quiet. Everything is polished to a shine, from the floor to the expansive chandeliers.

It's just a facade, just like Edoardo himself.

I stride down the hall. The click of my shoes echoes off the shiny marble, and I notice with satisfaction that they leave bloody, dirty footprints in their wake.

I push open the double doors to Edoardo's study without knocking. I dare him to call it disrespect.

Edoardo looks up from behind his desk, a glass of something expensive in hand. Roberto is creeping by the fireplace, eyes blazing at me when I enter.

"You bastard," he snarls, moving forward, as if he has the actual balls to hit me. "Where is my father?"

"No, stop!" Edoardo jumps up from his chair.

"He has my father," Roberto pouts, but stops dead in his tracks, narrowing his eyes at me. The urge to bury my fist in his smug face burns like acid in my stomach. That bastard put my sister's life in danger—and Cat's.

"Enrico," Edoardo says smoothly as if two of his capos weren't standing right in front of his desk, ready to kill each other. "You made it." The last part is seeded with sarcasm.

He eyes me, and his expression darkens. "What happened to you? You couldn't stop and get cleaned up first?"

I ignore him. "Your little attack caused a lot of attention," I spit into Roberto's face.

He raises his hands, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A slight tick by his neck gives him away. He knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"What attack?" Edoardo asks, his voice tight with the weight of his position. He's trying to regain control, as if this room hadn't already slipped from his grasp the moment I stepped inside.

I turn my head slowly and pin him with a glare.

"The mall," I bite out. "This asshole ordered his trigger-happy rejects to attack me in the middle of a crowded mall, with two of my women in the crossfire.

" I shift my attention back to Roberto. "Your timing's pathetic at best, your execution worse. You need to train your clowns better."

Roberto scoffs and contorts his face in mock offense. "That wasn't me."

"Bullshit." I hiss, keeping my voice low and controlled. "I recognized your pet, Davide. He squealed like the rat he was when I pulled the trigger."

I move forward, right into his face. "You still want to deny it?

Want to tell me Davide moved on his own?

" Roberto pales, just for a second, then a flicker of undiluted anger flashes through his eyes, and he lunges for me.

My shoulder burns under the blood-caked suit, and every step sends fire through the bullet graze, but I sidestep him easily enough and put a fist into his kidney.

"You don't get to touch my family and walk away," I snarl. "You don't get to hurt my sister and then stand here and play innocent."

Roberto stiffens on the ground, ready to make another jump at me. "Your sister?"

"Izzy," I snap. "You remember her, don't you?"

His eyes narrow.

"Cut it out, both of you, or I'll call my guards," Edoardo yells.

Even Roberto's face contorts in disgust for our Don.

A real Don wouldn't threaten us with his guards .

He'd have a gun in his hand, and we'd both be lucky if we were still breathing under the impact of lead he'd put in us. I tilt my head.

Deliberately, I kick Roberto in the same kidney I just slammed with my fist while he's trying to get on all fours.

"This fucker," I emphasize my words with another kick that makes Roberto groan and fish for his gun, "and his father abducted my sister last night.

They kept her in his dungeon." I kick his hand before he can grab the barrel of his gun.