Page 18 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

T he lights showered the room in a majestic, golden glow. Soft cheers rose to the ceiling when a hand was strong or someone at one of the various tables won big. Waiters moved about the room, offering cigars, alcohol, and smiles.

It was another successful night in the coliseum.

I brushed a hand down the front of my tuxedo.

The first few times, once this place opened, I felt like James Bond.

The technology in my ear improved over the years, but I always had access to Sandro, who was stationed in the back room, observing every card game from above.

While he watched the patrons, we needed a man on the ground.

It was how my persona as a billionaire started.

Once I had the corporate clout, men learned my name.

But the money came first, and it came from the cut our famiglia took every night we hosted the illegal, unsanctioned card night.

We rarely worried about a sting. Our contact in the Organized Crime Division of the FBI worked to keep us off the radar.

But if the law ever did snoop, we had documents showing that this was all fake money.

The actual funds people won were discreetly delivered to them the next day.

We always paid.

We always profited.

“Quit messing with your tie, you look great,” Sandro muttered in my ear.

Realizing I was fidgeting with the vise around my throat, I dropped my hand. This venture lost its shiny excitement a long time ago. Now it was routine to show up, to win or lose big, and then go home.

Where thoughts of my temptress would haunt me in the long hours before dawn.

When I saw her at the golf course with that fucking pretty boy…

. Dio! He was perfect for her! The golden one, polished and socially acceptable.

Everything a girl like her would want. I hadn’t planned to go to the wedding, especially knowing she would be there, probably with him.

What had they done in Germany? I hated knowing that someone else was in her life.

Wanting to punish her, to exact my revenge, I went to the wedding, only to stand in the shadows and watch.

And then, she said it was over. The relief went straight to my head. A sucker for the pain, I nearly crumpled. I almost crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t. The feelings I swore were dead sprang up with vengeance.

I almost kissed her.

Almost closed the distance.

She was the one thing I wanted, even as I swore I hated her for messing with my head.

“Ah fuck, Corwin is here.”

As my brother’s annoyed observation crackled in my ear, I turned my head.

Blau was an addict. Every time the jeweler came, it was probable the night would end disastrously for him.

He didn’t know when to pull out. The moment he won, he went bigger.

Since we were invested in his black-market gems, we couldn’t let him lose too badly.

A long sigh escaped my lips. Tonight, I’d be babysitting—again.

“That’s three times this week,” I grumbled softly, knowing the don would hear me.

Sandro snorted.

The sound grated twice as badly given the nature of our communication.

I sat at a poker table, threw down a few chips, but kept my attention focused on the craps table to my right. I was dealt a king, a six, and a queen. I kept the lucky lady and traded out the others.

“Well, this is interesting,” Sandro mused.

Another royal woman appeared in my hand. I kept her and raised the stakes.

“There’s a shaky little man in a brown suit who made the buy-in.”

At my brother’s words, I scanned the crowd, immediately spying the balding figure making a beeline for the game of Blackjack. His sort was common. Some plebian who thought to make a quick buck at our expense. The suit was dated, the tie stained. But the determined look in his eye promised trouble.

The beast inside my chest stirred, already scenting blood.

The dealer in front of me flipped the last queen. The damn red heart taunted me for some unknown reason. I nearly missed the tell of the construction guru, but he breathed too loud. Since there was only a seven, a three, and a jack on the flop, I guessed the tycoon had something decent.

“He’s already counting,” Sandro muttered.

I flicked a glance at the brown suit, but since that table was too far away, I trusted my brother’s arial view of the situation. But even looking at the faded brown back, the loose threads and even looser fit, I smelled the stink of desperation from here.

The turn didn’t help my already strong hand.

But the tycoon raised the stakes.

Feeling a bit reckless, I met his bet and called.

“Two pairs,” the dealer said monotonously.

I turned mine. But before I collected my winnings for the four of a kind, the quiet lady to my left turned over a straight flush.

“Well done, madame,” I intoned and gave her a smoldering grin.

Mrs. Lim, visiting Chicago with her tech-savvy husband from Singapore, gave me a courteous nod as the winnings were pushed toward her.

“He just won another hand. Time to shut him down,” Sandro menaced.

The bouncers would collect the card counter. I rose, ignoring the construction owner’s gibe that the night was just starting, and wandered to the bar.

“I’m coming up,” I murmured to Sandro.

His voice was sharp. “Not necessary. I need you on the floor.”

But the itch crawling under my skin needed release.

Blau waddled over before I could make my escape. “Mr. Baldwin, how are you this evening?”

I looked the tiny man up and down. “Really, Corwin? Already?”

The jeweler fidgeted. “The fates are against me.”

I groaned. “Go home, Blau.”

But the little idiot leaned in. “I have an emerald. Uncut. But the clarity is the best I’ve seen on the market.”

“I’m not giving you a loan,” I said dryly.

Maybe I could punch the jeweler. It wouldn’t sate the bloodlust, but it seemed like the best outlet.

Whatever he said next was lost as another voice greeted me.

“Good evening, Mr. Baldwin. How are you tonight?”

I swiveled my attention to the gentleman in a crisp tux. His brown hair and goatee were free of greys, an unusual accomplishment for a man of his age. Before I could stop myself, I studied his features for any familial resemblance.

No, his daughter didn’t look like him.

A great mercy. She was stunning by most standards, but far more natural than her mother. It was as though she took what nature gave her and doubled it on her own.

Stop it!

But as it always did, one little thought of the temptress, and my whole body came alive. Even now, after all this time, she had the power to drive me mad.

“Funny, I’ve never seen you at one of these gatherings, Hertz.” I took a sip of scotch.

Blau swallowed hard, looked between us, and wisely scampered away.

As I watched him go, I noticed the bouncers escorting the plebian to the exit.

He would be taken upstairs, instead of being allowed to leave through the front door.

A cruel trick, thinking he was so close to freedom, and yet so far away.

“Didn’t know this place existed until earlier this week. What a well-kept secret, an elusive gambling hall that most of society seems to know about,” Hertz mused. “I’m so glad I was finally invited.”

The fucker.

It would take one wrong move, and he would be writing an op-ed about this. If only it was possible to shoot annoying people. There would be three dead tonight if that was the case.

Of course, my bullet would only wound, and therefore scare, the jeweler. We didn’t want to lose that business permanently. Plus, the pest was under our protection.

“People won’t take kindly to a journalist snooping,” I said, letting him see my hand. “There are sharks here who would destroy anyone foolish enough to whisper.”

“Don’t worry, Baldwin. My pen is safely at home.”

This interaction was exactly what I needed to remember my revenge.

I nearly took this man’s business once before.

What he didn’t know was that he had a mole in his company.

Anonymous tip sheets arrived every few days from someone pissed at their boss.

Hertz was using the media company’s money to fund all sorts of personal ventures.

It was only a matter of time before a legal avenue opened up, and I could finally swoop in and gut his empire.

Meanwhile, things between me and the little temptress were an entirely different battlefield.

Driving her from the city was more difficult than I anticipated.

I’d been busy, which was the excuse I used not to send the pictures to Blitz News.

But they were there, ready to send when the time to strike felt right.

When I went to war, I won. This whole family would pay.

“Enjoy your evening, Alfred,” I snapped.

The beast inside paced, begging for a pound of flesh.

And there was only one place to sate the bloodlust tonight. I pushed off the bar and strode to the exit. Sandro was busy and his enforcer’s hands were already wet no doubt. There was no one to stop me going upstairs.

The humidity draped over me like a wet blanket, making the suit cinch around my body. Ripping at the tie, I tugged it viciously from my throat. Quickly checking that I wasn’t followed, I moved around the exterior of the building to the back entrance, where I took the stairs two at a time.

The doors were soundproof, but the moment I pushed inside the interrogation room, sobs and snuffling greeted me. A single trickle of blood ran from the plebian’s split lip.

Dante broke him after one hit.

Pathetic.

“Leo! Get back on the floor,” Sandro barked.

“I’m done.” I walked to the man in the brown suit. “So…you think you can steal from us?”

Sandro groaned. “Now we’ll have to kill him.”

Rotten luck. This man was going to escape our wrath after a beating and a promise never to return until I showed up. Now we couldn’t risk him connecting my presence to the operations of the illegal ring.

Oops. “Guess it’s not your lucky day,” I scoffed, crouching before him.

“Please, signore, I only needed to double my cash.” Those muddy brown eyes looked up at me.

The air sucked sharply through my nostrils. The determination in his gaze was a pleasant surprise.

“What makes you so desperate as to steal from the mob?” I demanded.

“My girl, she’s seven and has refractory leukemia.” The man wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “There’s an experimental drug, but I couldn’t afford it on an elementary teacher’s salary.”

O, dio. What a fucking mess.

The callouses around my heart melted. I didn’t care that this man was going to die…until he mentioned his child.

Now I felt sick.

I’m a fucking monster. A black hearted soul. The worst kind of creation.

Sandro’s groan of dismay behind me told me my brother felt the same. He pulled out his phone as he approached.

“What’s her name?” the don asked.

The plebian looked up, and the damn hope in his eye shimmered. “Sarah Matthews. She’s currently at the St. Luke’s Children’s Hospital.”

Sandro listened to his phone ring, and when his assistant, Luca Bravitti, answered, the don asked for his secretary for confirmation. We waited in tense silence as the young member of our organization worked his magic from the next room over.

“She’s there,” Sandro confirmed, pocketing his phone.

“She’s only seven,” the father pleaded.

I looked up at my brother’s hard face.

“It’s your call. You fucked this up,” Sandro commented in Italian.

The beast, pacing back and forth inside, moaned. This wasn’t his outlet. The release I desperately craved wouldn’t find satisfaction in what I was about to do.

“It’s a bad business, teacher,” I said matter-of-factly.

The man sobbed. “I just wanted to help my girl.”

“Oh, you did.” I patted his shoulder. “You helped her. She’ll have any treatment money can buy. An anonymous donation will arrive when the hospital’s billing department opens in the morning.”

The man drew in a shaky breath.

“But, Mr. Matthews—”

“It’s Stevens. The girl has her mother’s name,” he corrected.

I nodded. “Well, Mr. Stevens, if science can cure her, she won’t have her daddy to walk her down the aisle. Is that a price you can pay?”

My meaning sank in. The man began to breathe hard. He struggled to control his body.

“I—I can pay.”

“I swear to you, Sarah will never want for anything,” Sandro added, voice coming as a prophetic overtone.

“Tell her how much her father loved her,” Stevens insisted, meeting my gaze with a steady stare.

“She’ll know.” With that, my hand slid up his throat, and I snapped his neck.

Quick and painless, he felt nothing.

“He didn’t have to die,” Sandro scolded. “I had a handle on the situation. But now his death is on your hands. Do you feel good about yourself?”

No, I fucking didn’t feel good. I felt…lost. I would be the last man to complain, to tell my brother that it killed me a little each day to play the role we designed.

That my throne was empty and lonely. That I craved even the smallest interaction with the famiglia.

But now the price of trying to belong cost an innocent man his life and his daughter a father.

“You can’t pull this shit, Leonardo.” The don stepped into my path, glowering at me. “They’re already whispering, wondering why your business is being attacked by the IRS. They want to find something, so they’ll guess at a reason that is too close to the truth. And if you pull more shit like this—”

“It won’t happen again,” I snapped.

“You’re damn right it won’t. Stay away from us,” Sandro growled.

Brushing past my brother, knocking my shoulder into his, I left without a word, only feeling the suffocating weight of my situation steal the air from my lungs.

The beast inside let out a roar of lamentation.

It would be another long night, alone in my tower with only a bottle of scotch for company.

Sandro, my own brother, didn’t know how bad things were.

He didn’t see me dying, slowly, right in front of him.