Page 47 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

His hands were steady—no tremor, no hesitation—but I shied away the moment the cool air hit my skin. Humiliation draped over me like a wet blanket, threatening to smother me. That was the worst part about the torment: my inability to stop it.

And now Leo saw that too.

As I peeled the fabric from my skin, he left for a moment, only to return with two electric heating pads. I slid a long sleeper tee over my head and let the material cover the evidence of my own weakness.

“Get into bed,” he said gruffly.

I stepped toward him, reaching for the heating pads. “I can do that.”

He shook his head. “Let me.”

He’d said it so softly I almost didn’t hear.

I scooted under the blankets, enjoying the full attention from another human being. Healthy attention. Complete focus tempered with a kindness that could only be born in the dark.

Leo was a monster, powerful and violent. He had to be to survive as a double player in the Underworld. But behind every good man was a dangerous one—one capable of slaughtering the enemy and protecting his kingdom.

The F.B.I. was messing with the wrong person if they thought they could shackle him.

Leo knelt on the rug, all that power folded up at my feet. His head bowed, the darkness hiding his eyes, he slid the silk away, pressing a kiss to my ankle after he draped the pads over my back.

If this was how he wanted to love me—by pretending the rest of the world couldn’t touch us—then I would let him, every time.

I didn’t realize I was shivering until he wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. The warmth seeped in, and for a minute I thought I might sleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed. His palm smoothed the blanket over my body, but he didn’t look at me. He stared out at the city skyline fractured by the glare of lights. His free hand traced the length of my spine, back and forth, like he was memorizing every bone.

I reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned into it, letting his eyes close, lashes black and trembling. When he opened them, the fight was gone. Only the ache was left.

“You should rest,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

“Will they come back?” My voice was thin. I hated how it sounded.

He shook his head. “Not tonight.” A ghost of a smile. “They’re too busy congratulating themselves.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered there, and I felt the coolness of his ring as it pressed the skin.

“Dormi, cara mia.” He bent low, lips grazing my forehead, and whispered it again. “Buona notte.”

He switched off the lamp. The room dissolved into gray, the city still thrumming just beyond the window. I heard the door click shut, and then his footsteps retreated, slow and heavy.

I laid there and stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the plaster that didn’t exist. I thought about the click of the anklet, the way it must have burned him to wear it, how much of himself he had to swallow to let those men into our home.

I thought about the way his eyes went dead and alive, dead and alive, every time he looked at me.

My body hurt everywhere, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. The heating pad warmed my back, but the rest of me was made of ice.

I wondered what I could do. What a person like me, with no authority and no leverage, could possibly do to undo what they’d just done to him. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up every scrap of information I’d ever heard, every trick or loophole. The longer I thought, the less there was.

Plenty of the thrillers had references to the law, but in none of them were they the heroes. It was always the rogues, the ones who operated outside the legal channels, who won the day.

But I couldn’t stop. I would lie here all night, fingers curled into the blanket, listening for footsteps, for the sound of Leo coming back to me. And when he did, I would hold him, and I would swear to him that no cage could hold us forever.

I would make it true.

Somehow.

***

I woke with a start, having barely dozed. Through the still of the night, a murmur buzzed beyond my door. Fearing it was the Feds returned to take Leo, I jumped from bed, only to be reminded that my body was not in the best shape.

Wincing as the still-healing ankle took my immediate weight, and my back stiff from the cooled pads, I hobbled to the door. Once it was cracked, voices floated up from below.

One was Leo.

The other, a stranger.

I tiptoed to the landing, prepared to fight whoever it was. Not that I would present much of a threat.

“Tell Don Mancini that he owes me,” the stranger said roughly.

“He knows that.” Leo’s voice was tight. “You’re sure they won’t know it’s off?”

The man shook his head. “This is a lower tech model. There will be a blip in the system, the same as though your blood pressure dropped. So long as you snap it back together, they’ll not even count the ping.”

“How long do I have?”

“Less than ten seconds,” the man replied.

They walked to the door.

It opened and closed.

Leo returned to the living room. He bent. A loud exhale filled the room. With a swift turn of the lock, he opened the anklet and re-clasped it. Less than three seconds.

Staring at the foul thing, triumph thrummed through his eyes. He chucked it across the room, where it clattered against the glass and fell to the floor.

The monster was free.

I smiled. Who the hell thought they could chain him was the biggest idiot in town. He was coming for them, the beast already on the hunt. I crept back to bed, relief flowing through me.