King of Wrath (Kings of Sin, #1)

by Ana Huang

Vivian was beautiful. Even after a twelve-hour flight, she glowed in a way that had nothing to do with her physical appearance. A strange sensation coasted through my chest. “Yes,” I said. “She is.” Vivian’s eyes widened a fraction while my mother beamed harder.

“Good to see you, son.” He clapped a hand on my back before engulfing Vivian in a bear hug. “And you, my daughter-in-law! I can’t believe it! Tell me, has Dante ever taken you scuba diving?” “Uh, no—” “No?” His voice boomed louder. “Why the hell not? I’ve been telling him to take you diving since you got engaged! You know, we conceived Luca after—” I cut in before my parents could embarrass themselves, and me, further. “Leave her alone, Father. As fascinating”—scarring—”as the story of Luca’s conception is, we’d like to freshen up. It’s been a long flight.”

My mother’s idea of romantic was my idea of a nightmare. Red rose petals blanketed the floor. A bucket of chilled champagne sat on the nightstand next to two crystal flutes while a box of chocolates, condoms, and towels folded into the shape of swans rested at the base of the canopy bed. A fucking couple portrait of me and Vivian hung on the wall opposite the bed beneath a glittery banner that read, Congratulations on your engagement!

It looked like a goddamn honeymoon suite, except it was infinitely more horrifying because my own mother set it up.

I was going to murder someone before the end of the trip. There was no way around it. Whether it was my mother, father, or brother, it was going to happen.

It suddenly hit me that this would be our first time sharing a room. Sharing a bed. Six days and five nights of sleeping next to her. Of seeing her in those ridiculously tiny outfits she called pajamas and listening to the water run while she bathed. Six days and five nights of fucking torture. I rubbed a hand over my face. It was going to be a long week.

His frown deepened with each word out of my mouth, and when I reached the part about him wrestling the swan who’d tried to run off with my brand-new engagement ring, he gave me a look so dark it could’ve snuffed out the sun. “Swan wrestling, eh?” Gianni, as he insisted on being called, laughed. “Dante, non manchi mai di sorprendermi.” “Anche io non finisco mai di sorprendermi,” Dante muttered. I stifled a smile.

An unexpected pang hit my chest. How many times had his parents chosen their selfish desires over him for him to be so blasé about them missing his engagement?

“People can join as many charities as they want, donate as much money as they want, but at the end of the day, it’s about the bottom line. Look at Tim and Arabella Creighton. They were once superstars in Manhattan society. Now Tim’s facing trial, and no one will touch Arabella with a ten-foot pole. All her supposed friends dropped her.”

“If you think any of the people who kiss my ass now will stick around if the company folded tomorrow, you’re sorely mistaken. The only languages they understand are money, power, and strength.

“Some things make it better.” My heart faltered, then picked up speed again.

I half listened as he ran through the top activities in Bali. I was too distracted by his voice to pay attention to his words—deep and velvety, with a faint Italian accent that did unspeakable things to my insides.

I’d teased him about loving Kai’s British accent at Valhalla, but it was his I couldn’t get enough of.

“If you ever tire of the corporate world, you should become a babysitter,” I whispered to Dante while Gianni waxed nostalgic about his last trip to Indonesia five years ago. “I think you’d do great.” “I’m already a babysitter.” Dante slid the words from the corner of his mouth. “Thirty-one years with no promotion. I’m ready to resign.”

The flicker in his eyes returned, hotter and brighter. His expression softened. “Enjoy the meal, mia cara. Don’t let my family bullshit ruin it.”

The conversation from the rest of the table fell away as the mental image of his touch entered my bloodstream in an intoxicating rush.

There must be an invisible thread connecting my fantasies to his mind, because black bled into the edges of his eyes like he knew exactly what I was picturing.

My mind flashed to our conversation on the beach, our snack night in the kitchen, and the thousands of little moments that revealed little glimpses of the man beneath the armor.

She was wrong, but that didn’t stop my pulse from spiking with anticipation. “How does he look at me?” Janis smiled. “Like he never wants to look away.”

I’m surprised you haven’t checked in since October. I thought the issue held more urgency for you.” “I’ve been busy.” “Hmm.” The sound resonated with knowing. “Or perhaps you’re warming up to your bride-to-be? I heard you two disappeared for quite a while at Valhalla’s New York gala.” My teeth clenched. Why was everyone so obsessed with my feelings toward her? “What we do in our private time is none of your business.”

tossed the shirt over the arm of a nearby chair and faced her again only to find her staring at me with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” “Getting ready for bed.” I cocked an eyebrow at her visible horror. “I sleep hot, mia cara. You wouldn’t want me to roast to death overnight, would you?” “Don’t be dramatic,” she muttered, setting her lotion back on the dresser. “You’re a grown man. One night of sleeping with your clothes on won’t kill you.”

“Stop it,” I ground out. “Neither of us will get any sleep if you insist on moving around like that all night.” “I can’t help it. My brain is…” She blew out a breath. “I can’t sleep.” “Try.” The sooner she fell asleep, the sooner I could relax. Relatively speaking. “What great advice,” she said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. You should start a Dear Dante column in the local newspaper.”

“Were you born with a smart mouth, or did your parents buy it for you after their first million?” Vivian let out a sardonic breath. “If my parents had their way, I wouldn’t say anything except yes, of course, and I understand.”

The electricity from dinner returned and stretched the moment into one long, perfect thread of tension. “We should go to sleep,” Vivian breathed. There was a slight shake in her voice. “It’s late.” “Agreed.”

Then another boom of thunder crashed in the distance, and the tension exploded with the force of a lit match in a barrel of gasoline. My mouth crashed down on hers, and her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me flush against her. A low moan vibrated against my mouth when I rolled on top of her and pinned her hips between my thighs. Raw desire took over, eradicating thoughts of anything except Vivian.

We kissed like we were drowning, and the other person was our only source of oxygen. Wild. Frantic. Desperate. And it still wasn’t enough. I needed more of it. More of her.

“Dante.” Her soft cry when I cupped her breast almost undid me. “Keep screaming my name, sweetheart.” I kissed my way down her neck and chest, eager to map every inch of her body with my mouth.

Approval rumbled in my chest. “That’s a good girl.”

“Please.” She panted, her grip strangling my hair when I nipped the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Please what?” I received only a whimper in response. “Please eat out this pretty little cunt of yours?” I taunted, my voice soft but the words rough. “Tongue fuck you until you beg me to let you come? You have such a smart mouth, mia cara. Use it.” “Yes.” The word was half plea, half demand. “I need your mouth on me. Dante, please.”

“Hai un sapore divino,” I murmured.

You can either have Vivian or you can have her father’s head on a platter—figuratively speaking, of course. You can’t have both.

“I’ll be fine.” They weren’t my first or worst injuries from the ring. “Ice and disinfectant,” she said firmly. “Now.” “Or what?” I shouldn’t be indulging her, but she was so endearing when she tried to boss me around that I couldn’t resist. Her eyes narrowed. “Or I’ll place every candlestick in this house at uneven intervals and make sure your foods touch every. Single. Meal. Greta will help me. She likes me more than you.” I took back what I said about her being endearing. She was fucking evil.

“Dante, your skin is purple.” “Purple black.” A smile tugged on my lips at her cutting look. “Precision is important, mia cara.” “Are you trying to get a matching injury on the other side of your jaw?” she asked pointedly, pressing one of the packs against my face. “If so, I can help with that.”

“Yet Asher Donovan and Rafael Pessoa, two sports stars, are on your dream husband list.” I used to be a fan of both. Not anymore. “First of all, you have to let that list go. Second of all—hold this over your eye”—Vivian

“You’re forgetting one thing.” I tapped my jaw.

Vivian’s brow wrinkled. “What?” “My kiss.” Pink crept over her cheeks. “Now you’re the one teasing me.” “I would never tease about such a serious matter,” I said solemnly. “One kiss for each of my injuries. That’s it. Would you deny a dying man his last wish?”

“Who’s Heath?” The black velvet voice wrenched my gaze to the entrance. Charcoal suit. Broad shoulders. Expression as dark as his voice. My pulse skittered into overdrive. Dante stood in the doorway, brown paper bag in hand, his eyes glinting like shards of volcanic glass against the soft roses. His body held dangerously still, like the calm before a storm.

“Well, this was fun, but I gotta go,” she chirped in an overly bright voice. “Monty gets cranky if I don’t feed him on time.” Traitor, my glare screamed. Sorry, she mouthed. Good luck.

“Some fucker is sending you flowers, and you want to tell me it’s harmless?” He picked up the card again. “Thought of you at midnight. Hope you’re doing well. Love, Heath.” Sarcasm weighed heavy on the recitation. “It doesn’t take a genius to know what he was doing while he was thinking of you at midnight.” Frustration overrode my misplaced guilt. “I can’t control what other people do or say. I told him I wasn’t interested in getting back together, and I’ll tell him again if he persists. What do you want me to do? Get a restraining order against him?” “Now that’s an excellent idea.” “That’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Where’s your dashing husband-to-be?” Isabella asked. “Still sulking about the flowers?” She was determined to prove Dante and I would turn into a true love match by the wedding and brought him up every chance she got.

“He’s not sulking,” I said, well aware of Greta’s eagle-eyed presence. “He’s busy.” He’d been busy for three weeks. If there was one thing Dante excelled at, it was avoiding hard conversations. “He’s sulking,” Isabella, Greta, and Sloane said in unison.

“Trust me. I raised Dante since he was in diapers.” Greta checked on the sauce. “You’ll never meet a more stubborn, hardheaded man.”

“Are you talking him up because he installed a TV in the kitchen for you?” I asked lightly. Greta’s eyes gleamed. “When someone offers you bribery, it’s rude not to take it.”

Laughter floated through the kitchen, but it died a quick death when Dante and Kai appeared in the doorway.

“Well, have a safe flight to D.C. Bring back a souvenir or two, hmm? I’m sure people in the household will appreciate it.” She slid another glance in my direction. Smooth, Greta.

“I hate the idea of you touching anyone else, or anyone else touching you. I hate that other people can make you laugh in a way I can’t. I hate how I feel around you, like you’re the only person that can make me lose control when I. Don’t. Lose. Control.”

“But I do.” His voice dropped, turning ragged. “With you.”

Our kiss in Bali had been passionate but impulsive. This? This was hard. Primal. Addicting.

with such perfection I half expected to find Michelangelo’s signature lurking on one of his chiseled abs.