Page 55 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

The next day…

I finally have some time to play catch-up in my office.

Silvano is poring over some emails in the corner, while I check all the ones I didn't deem important enough during the last few days.

My morning goes from bad to what the actual fuck when my private line rings and the caller ID is blank. Not unknown. Not restricted.

Just… blank.

I answer. "Speak."

Silvano looks up.

A pause, a silence so deep I almost think it's dead air. Then, a voice like dry ice slides into my ear. "This is a courtesy call," he says, low and calm, layered with a faint European accent I can't quite place. "Something I've never done before. Consider it... a professional respect."

My spine straightens. Every hair on my body stands on end as if drawn by static. "I take it I'm speaking to Ledyanoy Prizrak," I say evenly. I want nothing more than to crawl through the line and choke the bastard who dared lay hands on my sister.

Silvano gets up and comes closer to my desk. I put the phone on speaker.

"You are. But for posterity, call me Alaric," he doesn't deny it or posture, which I appreciate. "You're currently interfering with a one-point-five-billion-dollar target," he continues. "Stand down. Or feel my wrath. And I assure you, Enrico Sartori, you do not want that."

I scoff. "One point five billion? That's a hell of a paycheck for Preston Kingsley. Who the hell's paying you? God Himself?"

When there is no answer, I say, "I'm flattered you know my name. But if you knew me, you'd know that threats don't work on me. I'm not some C-list Russian arms dealer you can strangle with piano wire and dump in the Seine."

"No," Alaric says, and there's something like amusement in his voice. "You're worse. A man who believes the world bends for him. The most dangerous kind of fool."

"I'm a fool who keeps his family safe," I snap. "If your one point five- billion-dollar job means hurting mine, I'll burn down your empire, ghost or not."

"I don't have an empire," he says in a low voice. "But I am the storm that buries kings." The call crackles slightly. I can feel his gaze through the phone, the weight of it even without a face.

"This is your first and final warning," he adds. "You are in the way. Stay there… and you become collateral. And for the record?—"

"What?"

"There won't be a second call."

"Let me give you some courtesy advice, Alaric ," I snarl.

Silvano waves his hand, wanting me to keep myself under control, but I'm done playing games with this asshole, "no matter where you hide or what name you call yourself, I'm coming after you.

I'm going to kill you for putting your filthy hands on my sister.

That's not a warning, that's a promise."

Click. The bastard hangs up on me.

I stare at the screen, grinding my jaw so hard that my molars hurt.

My grip on the phone tightens. The plastic creaks, then the glass gives— snap —a spiderweb of cracks bursts across the screen like veins of lightning.

A tiny shard flakes loose, catches the light before it drops to the ground.

My breathing is hard, but my mind is working, calculating, replaying our conversation.

The bastard knows me. Knows my name. Knows I'm a threat.

He felt compelled to warn me, instead of trying to eliminate me.

That means he's not as untouchable as he likes to pretend to be.

"Sounds like he doesn't want to tango with us," Silvano says, settling into the chair across from my desk, arms folded, already thinking three moves ahead.

"He didn't sound scared," I admit, jaw still tight. "But he sounded... invested. Like I'm screwing up something bigger than just Kingsley."

"He made a mistake," Silvano says. "Calling you? That wasn't a power move. That was rattled ego. You're inside his perimeter. He wanted to shake you off."

I nod slowly, my fingers still curled around the cracked phone. "And he's just confirmed his timeline's fucked. If he were on track, he wouldn't need to call. He'd just finish the job."

Silvano leans forward. "What's our move?"

I glance out the window, the skyline blurring into silver and steel under clouded daylight.

"He said I'm interfering. That means someone else gave him the target.

I want a list of Kingsley's contacts over the last six months.

Everyone. Government, private, foreign. If he so much as had lunch with a diplomat's secretary, I want the name, the bank records, and her blood type. "

Silvano's mouth quirks. "Copy that."

"I want every detail from the casino surveillance repulled; I need to retrace every second of that bastard's life. If Alaric set foot on New York soil, he left a trace. I don't care how good he is—he's not a ghost. He's flesh. Bone. Fallible."

"Then we bleed him," Silvano says quietly.

I nod once. "Yeah. We bleed him."

Because warning or not, ghost or not, he touched my sister.

And for that, he's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet.

But that's not how my day goes to shit.

Alaric is just… a nuisance. A ghost with a price tag and an ego to match.

There are hundreds of Alarics out there, men who think they're untouchable because they're invisible.

I'll kill every single one of them if I have to.

Burn down every safehouse, rip apart every fake identity.

If they touch my family, they don't get to live.

No, the moment my day truly spirals is when I'm summoned—yes, summoned—to Edoardo's office.

At his mansion.

Like a fucking errand boy.

I don't knock when I arrive. The guards know better than to stop me, and his staff scurries out of my way when they see my scowl.

Like I'm a hurricane they've seen coming on the horizon that is now making landfall.

I push open the heavy doors to Edoardo's office without waiting for permission.

If he wants to summon me like some lackey, he can damn well deal with the storm he called.

He's at his usual post, behind the massive antique desk with carved gold lions on the corners. How tacky can he get?

"Enrico," he says without looking up, scribbling something in looping script on heavy vellum paper. "You've been busy."

"Comes with the territory." I sit without being asked. "What can I do for you, Don?"

He finishes his writing. Folds the paper, places it in a drawer, and then looks up. His face is calm, smooth, and unreadable. That alone puts me on edge. "I hear you're thinking about marrying Catalina Costa."

I meet his gaze without blinking. "Not thinking," I say. "I am."

Silence engulfs us. It stretches and stretches, long enough to feel like a noose tightening. It's a standoff, and I'll be damned if I cave first.

Edoardo leans back slowly, steepling his fingers. "That's a bold move."

"I'm not here for your blessing."

"Good," he says mildly. "Because I'm not offering one."

He takes a sip of his drink and sets it down with deliberate grace.

"Roberto still has loyalists. Half of them believe Catalina is still his.

The other half don't care but know how to weaponize gossip.

Her father's standing has already taken a hit.

And as of this morning, the mayor's port shipments have been stalled.

Customs. Inspections. Sabotage, perhaps. All since she moved into your house."

"I'm aware," I say through my teeth.

He raises a brow. "Are you also aware that this move places pressure on all of us? People are watching, Enrico. They want to know who you're loyal to—your family… or a very inconsequential woman."

I lean forward, pressing my fists into his desk so I won't slam them into his face. "If she's so inconsequential, why do you care?"

He doesn't flinch. But I see the faint tic in his jaw—a crack in the mask.

"I'm not warning you off," he says. "I'm reminding you that a capo's marriage is a declaration. And yours goes against my wishes."

"It's a good thing, then, that I'm not a capo yet." I dare him, leaning back.

His eyes flash. The quiet, simmering tension boils over into fire.

Edoardo stands, slowly, like a man holding back an explosion. "You arrogant little bastard, you owe me loyalty and respect. You swore an oath."

"I did not. My father did." I remind him. His face turns beet red. He's in his early twenties, but I'm worried for his heart health if he keeps this up.

He slams both palms down on the desk, rattling the crystal decanter on the tray beside him. "You think this is a game?"

"I think you're mistaking independence for insubordination." I stand too. Not slamming, not shouting. Just rising, calm as ever. Ice to his fire. "You don't get to tell me who to marry."

His eyes are narrow slits. "Maybe I don't, but your father will. I will order him to disown you."

I laugh dryly. He wants to come between my dad and me? "Good luck with that."

I turn to the door before I really say something I'll regret.

"You'll regret this." He yells after me in complete incompetence. A real Don would have shot me on the spot. I doubt Edoardo even knows where the trigger is.

"What did he want?" Silvano wants to know as soon as I get back into my Hummer.

"To tell me who I can and cannot marry."

"Oh shit," Silvano arches an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"Oh shit is right."