Page 51 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

W ould it really be so bad to tell him? He seemed confident now. But I knew what a leprous plague society was. Leonardo’s success was tied to his secret. Maybe it was delusional, but I thought he would know better than anyone that keeping the preying jackals away was best for business.

What if the tables were reversed? What if I demanded he risk himself, and the shameful secrets became public knowledge? Would he really be so eager to risk it then?

I paced across the carpet in the guest room. My hair dried hours ago, but I still kept the towel wrapped around my body.

There had to be a way to make him see that keeping the Tormentor’s actions from running amock like wildfire was for the best. It was better to pretend nothing was happening. And the attack shouldn’t have happened. There was no way it would be repeated.

It was just another lie. The Tormentor caught me before, and he would do it again.

Lies could damn us.

But the truth was hurting us now.

I groaned, falling back on the bed. Another groan, this time from pain, choked from me. The Tormentor deserved a taste of his own medicine. It would serve him right to unleash my husband’s fury on him.

But to protect Leo, I needed to make sure he never had reason to go looking for the pest again. Which meant I couldn’t be trapped and hurt. He was too close to discovering the truth as it was.

The marks I left on the Tormentor’s face hadn’t tipped him off. Leo claimed he didn’t know who it was.

I smiled, thinking about Leo storming into my uncle’s office, confronting my relatives. They probably shit themselves.

I tried to curl into the pillow, but sleep evaded me.

Knowing how completely pathetic it was that I now only indulged in decent sleep when I was near Leo, I snatched my pillow and blanket and crept from the guest room.

Leo hadn’t come out of his bedroom yet, and I had no idea if he was awake or asleep.

On one hand, I didn’t want to disturb him, not after everything that had happened, and on the other hand, I didn’t want him to find me gone.

That was a risk I took most nights—those raw, dark hours when I couldn't be sure of anything.

But the thought of waking him now, when things felt on the verge of unraveling, kept me standing helplessly in indecision.

So instead, I made a nest outside his door. If he did catch me sleeping on the floor like a dog, I could at least say I tried not to wake him.

Curling into myself, I shut my eyes.

Nothing. Nothing. No sleep, no rest.

Just the relentless churning of my mind.

Flopping onto my stomach, I began to scroll through my phone.

A new text, one I didn’t remember seeing earlier, waited for me.

I realized I must have missed it while at the bookstore playing the role of a wife, indulging Leo with smiles and laughter.

For a brief moment I had let myself be swept away and forgotten about the trouble I was in.

All that happiness now seemed suspiciously unreal.

But reality waited for me now. Don Alessandro’s men had been tailing my father with no luck. He needed more. And I needed the mob to know that I was on their side.

As I laid there, I decided on a course of action. After saving his contact information, I messaged the don that first thing in the morning, I could go to my father’s office downtown and upload the virus onto his computer.

The don responded immediately.

Serena’s Brother: Do it.

Dad would be at the physical therapist at ten, like he was every Wednesday. Uncle Jon would have squash, and Jonatan rarely was at the office.

No one would stop me.

Deciding that I wouldn’t sleep tonight, I picked myself off the floor, dragging the pillow and blanket with me, and snuck back into my room.

I tried to shut out the anxiety swirling in my mind, but the thoughts kept creeping back.

If I laid there in the dark, I would be waiting for dawn with bloodshot eyes and a restless heart.

My computer sat silent and ignored on the desk, like a beacon of last-resort hope.

I flicked on the small lamp and settled into the chair, opening the laptop.

Writing thrillers had been my refuge, grounding myself in stories that mirrored the terrible realities of life.

Instead of starting my next best-selling thriller, I clicked into the old story that I was reworking.

With trembling fingers, I read the last few lines, feeling a wave of nostalgia crash over me.

The shadow princes and the human girl.

Did it even make sense to work on this now?

But I needed to lose myself. Maybe the soft blue glow of the screen could soothe my agitation.

Maybe I could find some comfort in the words that used to bring me peace.

I remembered how much fun it had been to live in that world of my imagination, away from the truths and lies that plagued me now.

How long had I ignored it, convinced that writing wasn’t safe, that it wasn’t good enough?

It was this place, being with Leo again.

The story had called to me, even when I didn’t know if Leo and I would work out.

I never would have opened it in Chicago, never would have thought to turn to it there.

All I cared about was the truth and how it could destroy us.

Now, with the truth exposed, I saw that it was hurting us more than the lies.

I didn’t feel the call to write real world stories about thrills and chills.

Not after everything. Maybe just for one night, I wanted to escape to a fantasy land, where dragons roared, but lions ruled the kingdom.

***

I must have dozed off at some point, because when I opened my eyes, weak morning light was filtering through the curtains. My neck ached from falling asleep at my desk, and my laptop screen had gone dark. A quick glance at my phone showed it was 9:15 AM.

Perfect timing.

I stood, my body protesting after the uncomfortable sleeping position.

There was no sound from Leo’s room as I tiptoed to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I dressed in a conservative navy pantsuit, the kind that said ‘I belong here’ to anyone who might question my presence at Hertz Media.

I pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail and applied minimal makeup.

The apartment was quiet as I grabbed my purse and the flash drive Don Alessandro had provided. Leo must have left early for a meeting. Small mercies. I wouldn’t have to explain where I was going. Somehow, I wasn’t sure he would like me leaving to face my family—not with what happened last time.

His suspicions were spot on.

How I’d ever thought the bruises would go unnoticed seemed foolish now. But I was used to my family turning a blind eye to my plight. Not that the Tormentor had marred my face, always careful to keep his torture a secret.

But a protective father would have seen his little girl was being preyed on. A good man would have stopped it.

And that was exactly what Leo was: A good man.

A very dangerous, cold-blooded criminal, but a good man.

The ride to the skyscraper my family rented five floors of took less than twenty minutes. I parked in the visitor’s section, far enough from the main entrance, and looked up to my father’s corner office on the thirty-second floor.

I used to think as a child that he was king of the world, sitting up there so high. But only the conquerors took the top floors and penthouses. My father was not that.

Heart hammering, I approached the security desk, but I smiled confidently at the guard. “Annaliese Hertz-Baldwin to see Alfred Hertz.”

The guard nodded in recognition. “Miss Annaliese, nice to see you. Your father mentioned you might stop by to pick up some papers.”

He hadn't, of course, but being the boss’s daughter had its privileges. I signed in without question and was handed a visitor’s badge.

I read his nametag and gave him another warm smile. “Thank you, Carl.”

The elevator ride felt endless. With each floor, my resolve strengthened. This wasn’t just about me anymore—it was about protecting Leo, about protecting us both, and our family. The famiglia. The elevator doors slid open at the thirty-second floor, and I stepped out with purposeful strides.

“Miss Annaliese! Or should I say, Mrs. Baldwin!” My father’s secretary, Maureen, looked up in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“Just need to grab some old files from Dad’s office for a project I’m working on,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “He mentioned it would be fine to stop by whenever.”

Maureen hesitated. “Well, he didn’t mention anything to me yesterday. Nor was there a text this morning. And he’s at his physical therapy by now…."

“It was last minute. You know how he is.” I laughed lightly. “Always forgetting to update his calendar. I’ll be quick, promise.”

Before she could object further, I was already moving toward the large mahogany door of my father’s office. Once inside, I shut it firmly behind me, exhaling slowly. The familiar smell was tainted with something strange. Something metallic and gaseous.

Occupied with my work, I ignored the scent.

I moved quickly to his desk, my heart racing as I slid into his plush chair.

His computer sat like a sentinel on the polished surface, the screen black and waiting.

I pulled the flash drive from my purse and inserted it into the USB port.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, entering his password—my mother’s birthday, always predictable—and the screen illuminated with his desktop.

The program Don Alessandro had given me was sophisticated, designed to run silently in the background while granting remote access to everything. I double-clicked the executable file on the drive and watched as a small progress bar appeared.

10%… 25%… 48%…

A soft knock on the door made me freeze.

“Mrs. Baldwin? Is everything alright?” Maureen’s voice called through the door.

“Fine! Just looking through these files,” I called, watching anxiously as the progress bar crawled forward.

67%… 83%… 91%…

An eerie dread whispered through the office, pricking my skin and shooting my sixth sense to focus. I whirled around, expecting to see Maureen, but the office appeared empty. That strange smell seemed stronger, more pronounced.

99%… Complete.

I yanked out the flash drive and pocketed it, then stood to search for the files I’d claimed to need as my cover story. That’s when I noticed the executive bathroom door was slightly ajar. Had it been open when I came in? My father always kept it closed.

“Dad?” I called softly, moving toward the bathroom. No response.

The smell intensified as I approached. My hand trembled as I pushed the door wider, the hinges creaking softly.

“Oh my lord—” The words strangled in my throat.

My father lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, his white shirt soaked crimson, body unmoving. Coagulated blood lay in a pool beneath him, a tendril spread across the marble tiles in a ghastly halo.

“Dad!” I rushed forward, dropping to my knees beside him. My hands hovered uselessly over his body, afraid to touch him yet desperate to help. “Dad, can you hear me?”

No response. His skin was ashen, lips tinged blue. I pressed trembling fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse I already knew wouldn’t be there. Nothing.

The bathroom reeked of copper and death. My father’s body was already cool and bloated. He must have been dead for hours.

A strangled sound escaped my throat—half scream, half sob. I stumbled backward, my hands and knees smeared with his sticky blood. Vacant eyes, clouded with eternal slumber fixated on me. The man who never looked at me now stared up at me with unseeing eyes.