These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights, #1)

by Chloe Gong

“That’s not a necklace, is it?” “It is not, Bàba.” “That’s garrote wire, isn’t it?” “Indeed it is, Bàba.” “How many other weapons have you concealed on yourself?” “Five, Bàba.”

Was the line between enemy and friend horizontal or vertical? Was it a great plain to lumber across or was it a high, high wall—either to be scaled or kicked down in one big blow?

“Astra inclinant,” he would whisper into the wind, so heartachingly sincere even when quoting in Latin, “sed non obligant.” The stars incline us, they do not bind us.

These heirs think themselves kings and queens, sitting on a throne of gold and overlooking a glittering, wealthy empire. They are not. They are criminals—criminals at the top of an empire of thieves and drug lords and pimps, preparing to inherit a broken, terrible, defeated thing that looks upon them in sadness.