Page 113 of Lethal King

“My enemies won’t just wait around until I’m ready to face them.”

“That’s why we stagger their attacks.”

“And how do we stagger their attacks?”

My uncle’s eyes drift up to the ceiling, and I’m quick to understand his implication.

We have a hostage now.

A dangerous, beautiful, frustrating captive.

Tytus wouldn’t dare attack us if there was a chance Rozalia could be hurt.

I’m not so sure about Drago.

“Just because Tytus may be momentarily neutered doesn’t mean our other enemies are,” I point out. “Gabriel has already told us about Rozalia’s strained relationship with Drago. And now we’ve got this Leander fucker to worry about too.”

The microwave beeps, and I turn to take out the hot meal.

“Speaking of Leander…” Maksim grumbles. “I’ve been following up on him. But he’s harder to find than expected.”

“Don’t you have another mission to focus on?” I note.

Rummaging through a cupboard, I find a big glass pitcher and fill it up in the sink.

“I’ve put that aside for the time being,” Maksim says, pausing for a moment before continuing. “There’s nothing more important than securing your bride.”

The reminder is like a punch to the chest, and the pitcher in my fingers shakes ever so slightly as I squeeze down against the handle.

“Of course,” I growl.

Fuck. I keep forgetting about that little white lie. This game of cat and mouse is so exhilarating that everything else seems to fall to the wayside. When I’m hunting Rozalia, she’s not the woman I publicly proposed to. She’s my prey.

That’s all she is.

… Right?

“It’s a smart move,” Maksim assures me. He must sense my hesitation, but I can’t imagine he sees through my bullshit. Not quite yet. “Even if the Italians aren’t happy about it.”

For once, the Italians and I are on the same page—even if it’s for entirely opposite reasons.

“Fuck the Italians,” I curse. “You were going to tell me something about Leander. Where is he?”

To my surprise, Maksim shrugs.

“I don’t know. It’s like he disappeared. Up until last night, his movements were relatively easy to track. But every path I’ve followed since then has led to a dead end.”

“How far could you have possibly searched already?” I ask. “The man is a Greek billionaire. He probably has countless luxurious hideaways spread across the globe.”

“And we have countless spies and contacts spread out right alongside him. But every spy I’ve sent to one of his properties has come back with the same response. Nothing.”

“He must be scared.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“You mean if I was a coward?”

“Precisely.”