Page 154 of King of Ashes
I stretch out my hand as if urging her back, needing her to return. But if freedom is what she longs for most, I’ll gift it to her. I was always destined to give her anything she desired.
My sins have piled up, spread between us like a poisoned buffet we overindulged in.
I’ve lost her for a second time. That’s the price I must pay, ending this curse by setting her free.
Trapped in purgatory, the demons cackle at my pitiful existence until the elevator doors open, yanking me back. My heart revs up to welcome her, hope flooding my chest, only to be butchered at my feet.
The asshole, Paolo, steps inside, eyeing me with a smirk, enjoying my misery.
“I didn’t invite you,” I grit out.
He walks toward me, unbothered by the dark energy swirling in my head, demanding violence to appease the side of me that can’t cope with her absence.
Just like the first time. The only difference is that I lack the energy.
I am done.
“You missed two meetings. I was wondering if you’re still the Boss.”
I gnash my teeth. “There’s no wondering.”
This rat has been hard for my position, but men like him fail to understand that it takes more than cunning or viciousness to secure it. He wouldn’t survive one day in my place.
I should prove it to him just on principle, but nothing drags me out of the funk.
I just want to be alone.
Curse in peace.
Cry my agony away.
Surrender to my demons.
“Your behavior is not fit for a boss.”
I cock my head, eyeing him intently, and under my scrutiny he shrugs into himself.
“Have you tried to stage a coup in my absence?” I click my tongue, tsking, aware the asshole tried his best.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, revealing he tried and failed. Loyalty has been hard-won. I’ve always treaded a fine line between being liked and feared. You can’t give your men too much leeway. Leading is an art, one I’ve perfected.
It became secondary when Zara and I reconnected, both of us wishing to catch up after years of misery. Duty versus heart. And the heart always wins. That’s why men ultimately fall.
“That wife of yours surely did a number on you,” he says, sounding pleased.
I prowl toward him, wrap my hand around his throat, and squeeze hard. “Don’t talk about her.”
His face turns purple, his eyes bulging out, and I release my hold, shoving him back.
He stumbles but catches his balance, sputtering. “The best-kept secret in Chicago. Not anymore.”
He is indeed stupid. I guess he’s tired of living.
I shove my hands into my pockets, striking a casual pose just to belittle him. This asshole wouldn’t intimidate me even if he tried. He doesn’t prove a challenge. I’d squash him under my sole like the cockroach he is.
“Maybe you should give up the position. If you care so much about your marriage and your secret.”
I throw my head back, bursting into laughter. That he thinks he can blackmail me is the funniest fucking shit. I needed a good laugh.
