Page 64 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“And kill more of your innocent employees as a result?”

“There are far worse things at stake here, Ophelia,” I tell her, sipping vodka. “The Crows have the power to collapse the entire city as young boys fall weak to manipulation. David Hale knows this better than anyone.”

“David Hale?” repeats Ophelia. “As in the charity-event organizer who is raising millions of dollars for orphans?” Ophelia’s expression shifts, something clocking in her brain. “You know him?”

“We were in the Crows together. I reached out to him earlier. He’s in a similar position to me. He used his skills to build a very powerful, corrupt empire.”

“So, the philanthropist thing is all a lie?”

“To an extent. He believes in the cause. Of course, he believes in the paychecks more, but he has offered to help me tonight, and has already donated thousands to the cause.”

“Thousands?”

“Like I said, sweetheart,” I say, necking my second glass of vodka. “People are determined to keep this quiet. We’ll pay tribute to the victims and their families’, show our support, and make sure this new leader knows exactly who they are dealing with.”

“And why do I need to attend?”

“Because you’re my assistant. And because you secretly love being seen next to me.” I wink. “A dress has already been picked out for you. I’m sure you will love it.”

20

OPHELIA

Three people have died, and I’m dressed like I’m going to celebrate their death, not honor it.

The black sequin dress might hug my curves in all the right places, but it doesn’t feel appropriate. Fundraisers are meant to be small, modest events, where you play bingo in the community hall to raise money for charitable causes. While this event might be for a good cause, the intention doesn’t feel great as I watch politicians step out of luxury cars, heading inside, adjusting their bowties.

“I don’t understand why everyone’s making such a fuss.”

“I know,” grumbles Salvatore, sitting beside me in the backseats. “But Robert is in charge of damage control and insisted we show our faces.”

“Ours?” I glance at him. “He wanted me here?”

“No, I wanted you here,” he says. “As my executive assistant.”

“Of course,” I say. “I wonder what the company will think about that.”

“The company should have bigger fucking fish to fry,” grumbles Salvatore.

Robert Moretti is Salvatore’s younger cousin. He’s meant to be COO of the company, but Salvatore seems to have missed out a few details about him being the right-hand-man for the mafia.

I glance out of the window anxiously. My head doesn’t feel like it’s screwed on properly. Things make more sense than before, but the more I find out about Salvatore, the more I hate myself.

He’s the leader of an organized crime family. He has murdered god knows how many people. Knowing this information, I feel like I’m carrying twice the amount of guilt.

It makes me want to distance myself, but as soon as Salvatore reaches for my arm, the thought disappears into oblivion. He’s right. All I want is to be by his side, to know how it feels to be special.

On top of all this craziness, Salvatore is risking everything by telling me about the mafia. That has to count for something.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” Salvatore whispers in my ear as we enter the venue. “But I prefer it when you’re wearing nothing.”

“Not an appropriate thing to say when we’re entering a fundraiser.”

“We could be walking through a graveyard,” says Salvatore. “And I would still want to fuck you.”

My breath catches in my throat, pulse increasing as we enter.

This is an aristocratic nightmare, and I feel totally out of place. The dress makes me fit in, but I have no idea what to say or do. Salvatore, on the other hand, jumps straight into a conversation with someone from the stock exchange.