Page 66 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“It looks like we should add ‘professional actor’ onto the end of your resume. What the hell was that?”

“A performance, which I’ll be murdering Robert for later.” Salvatore crosses his arms, watching David, who seems to be enjoying the stage a lot more than the grumpy man sitting beside me.

I study Salvatore’s side profile when he’s not watching. I’m already playing a dangerous game tonight, and by staring at my boss, I’m already raising the stakes. Salvatore is irresistible. Walking into the office in the morning, seeing him dressed the part, is one thing. But he looks otherworldly tonight in his tux.

His hair is moussed back, which brings more attention to his face than normal.

Chandelier light spills over him, making his cheekbones look extra sculpted, painting him in the most ethereal light. He could model. He could stand under the sun and never get burned, and yet he chooses to keep parts of himself hidden.

If Salvatore stood on this stage and announced he was a mafia leader, I can guarantee people would applaud him for his courage.

Salvatore meets my gaze, his searching eyes roaming over my face.

Not only do I feel massively out of place, I’m falling for a man who is making me question more things about myself…

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say, returning to the stage, watching David Hale finish his speech.

The governor of New York joins him on stage, and they shake hands as she thanks him for his donation.

Applause fills the room as David presses a loving hand to his heart. He holds himself well, and as he kisses the audience goodbye, I almost feel myself falling for the act.

Salvatore and David both perform to protect themselves, but one seems to enjoy the attention much more than the other…

I take small sips of prosecco, feeling the tiny bubbles pop on my tongue. I might need something stronger to survive this evening.

“That’s a lot of money,” says Salvatore as David returns to his seat, spreading his napkin across his lap as the meal service begins.

“Well,” says David, “I do try my best.”

I watch David across the table. Salvatore is jaded and moves through the world like he stopped giving a fuck years ago. David, on the other hand, has poise. He makes an effort with people, always stopping to talk to them, always shaking hands with someone.

He sets his silverware down several times during the meal, turning away from the table to shake hands with people. He nods his head, showing people he is an active listener. He asks questions and speaks in a warm, friendly tone, all while remaining composed.

I study his body language. His shoulders are rolled back, and his mouth curls up slightly at the end, like he takes pride in what he does.

“How does he do it?” I whisper to Salvatore as we eat in silence.

“Do what?”

“He has murdered people, right?” I whisper in his ear, smelling his cologne.

Salvatore nods, cutting up his steak. “Some people can compartmentalize.”

“Isn’t that what you have been doing for years?”

“I try,” says Salvatore. “But when you start forming real connections, you start getting in trouble. It’s best to remain distant.”

I stop chewing the steak for a moment, reading his side profile.

My appetite fading, I set the silverware together and rise from the table, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.

I make it under the first floral arrangement when I see David grab Salvatore. He pulls him to the side, away from the table, producing something from his breast pocket.

He hands it to Salvatore, muttering something to him. I zero in on David’s hands, trying to speak the language of hand gestures so I can work out the conversation. It looks extremely private.

Seeing the conversation start to wrap up, I disappear around the corner and spend the next two minutes finding the bathroom. The woman in front of me wearing a corset dress guides me there. I follow her into the restroom like a stalker and shut myself away in the stall for a few minutes of solitude.