Page 67 of Tragic Empire

“Not all of us get lucky enough to find someone like Cassio, you know,” Morgan muses, swirling her glass of chardonnay. “He’s not just a catch, but a widow too. Giving him love after loss, he’s probably eating right out of your hand.”

“Morgan!” Charlotte gasps. “You can’t say things like that.”

My hand clenches in my lap, a silent disbelief washing over me.

“What?” Morgan huffs, throwing her hands up in mock defense. “I’m being honest. And it’s a good thing. From what I’ve heard his last wife couldn’t give him a child, so you know exactly what to do if you want to keep him.”

“Holy shit,” Reagan hisses. “Morgan, that’s so out of line.”

“You’re being awful,” Emma agrees, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Don’t speak about Cassio’s family,” I warn, voice cold and hard. “You know nothing about what he’s been through.”

“Oh my gosh, you guys are so sensitive! I’m only saying that you don’t have much competition,” she defends, sticking her nose up in distaste. “His previous wife couldn’t even do the one thing we’re designed to do. As long as everything is in working order for you, Ana, I’m sure you’ll keep him.”

Her words ring in my ears, and like on autopilot, my body reacts. Hand slipping up the skirt of my dress, I grab cold metal and lunge forward. Morgan’s eyes flare wide and her lips part, but no sound can come out before my knife plunges into her chest cavity, ripping through flesh and bone. Blood spills, soaking my hand in an instant while fire courses through my veins.

My heart beats so hard, I hardly recognize the sound of gasps and screams breaking out all around the room. Morgan’s skin goes pale and cold in a matter of seconds, and her body slumps from her chair to the floor and I retract my knife.

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

Just as I put my blade back on my thigh, blood dripping down my tights, Armani scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. I don’t fight him or ask a single question as he ushers me out of the building. Instead, the recent memory of stabbing Morgan plays on a peaceful loop in my mind. It calms me after the horrible words she uttered made my skin crawl.

No one speaks about Cassio’s loss that way.

I only wish I’d thought to stab her twice.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Cassio

What the actual fuck.

“You stabbed her in the chest?”

“I wanted to crack her chest open to pry out her heart and force feed it to her,” Ana growls. She’s standing stiffly by my side as I scrub blood from her hands in the kitchen sink, having returned only moments ago. “She’s lucky I nicked an artery and she died quickly.”

The feral glint in my wife’s eyes stirs something deep inside of me, something I need to ignore so that I can clean up her mess. A public murder is never ideal, and Ana has apparently just committed one.

I knew something was wrong as soon as Armani called me, before they had even made it back to the penthouse. I assumed Ana got upset and wanted to leave early, or that they didn’t feel the building was secure enough to stay. I never would have guessed that Ana took it upon herself to end some socialite’s life. Luckily, Colton and Armani were quick to react, pulling her out of the building and beginning the cover up process.

“What did she say to you?”

“You don’t want to know,” she rasps. “I don’t want to repeat it.”

“My father and Apollo are on their way,” I tell her instead of prying. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, or I’ll find out another way. “You’ll need to talk to them, to give them details so they can handle this.”

Her gaze becomes vulnerable as she peers up at me. “Am I going to be arrested?”

“No,” I don’t hesitate to answer. “You don’t need to worry about that, I promise.”

She breathes out, letting my vow sink in.

“Are you okay,forza?” I ask softly, beginning to dry her hands. She’ll need a shower, but at least her hands are mostly clean. “Killing for the first time can be very difficult for some.”

Our eye contact breaks as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think this is the first time I’ve killed someone.”

Her words are so quiet that I almost don’t hear them, but she sounds utterly defeated as she mutters them. I don’t know whether she’s ashamed to admit it, or fearful of how I might react.