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I’m heated and worn out all at once.
Dialing Thomas’s number, I wait for him to pick up and ask, “Is it done?”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call and crack my neck.
Antonio underestimates my capabilities. He’s like our father in a lot of ways—a natural craving for brutality and chaos—but he didn’t have the business sense or knowledge to make a real life from it.
If he were next in line, he wouldn’t live to see his forties. There is a darkness inside me willing to come out and make itself known, but you have to be smart about it.
Antonio will never understand that.
It’s why I’m king and he’s a brat grounded for being an idiot.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alyssa
“Mr. Leto.”
The name from her lips rings in my head the entire way to Vino’s.
I don’t even know if he’ll be there, but I need to find him.
I pay the cab driver and exit the car.
Cupping my hands to the window of Vino’s, I look inside, eyeing his security team surrounding the doors. A couple of others are sitting at the bar, talking to Hannah.
Hannah.
Slapping my palms against the window, I gain their attention, my heart leaping when the security men place a hand on the weapon holsters strapped to their hips.
Hannah waves them off as she comes to the door. She’s here late, but I’m glad. I may never have gotten past these men otherwise.
“Alyssa?” My name is a whimper from her lips. She wraps me in her arms. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I need to see Luca.”
“Alyssa?” This time, it’s a plea.
“Just let me by, Hannah, please.” It’s my turn to beg.
“Fine.” She holds up her hands, then lets them collapse against the side of her upper thighs.
One of the security men follows behind me as I move through the bar like a tornado.
Barging into his office, I spit, “You bastard.”
He’s on his feet in an instant, his gun pulled, aimed directly at me.
Thud.
“What the fuck?” he bellows, his stride eating up the space between us. “Leave,” he snaps at the security guy. Slamming the door closed in his face, he grabs me around the throat.
The shawl Jewel had loaned me flutters to the ground, exposing my torn green dress.
His hold is so strong, my body has no choice but to comply when he forces me back farther into the office before crashing me down on his desk, my back hitting the hardwood with a painful thud.
The oxygen pushes from my lungs, dispersing from my lips in a distressed gasp. The air kisses over my exposed breast, the flimsy satin fabric gathering around my ribcage.
“You don’t fucking learn, do you?” He places the gun against my forehead the black of his eyes expanding, swallowing the blue. “What’s it going to take for you to get the message?”
His words are a contradiction to his body.
My legs are parted on either side of his thighs, the hard length of his cock pushing against my pussy, making me grateful for the long slit up the side of the dress.
He applies pressure, choking. Water springs to my eyes, my lungs desperate for air.
Black dots fill my vision before he loosens his hold slightly.
“You’re playing with fire, little girl. Do you know how easy it would be for me to just make you go away?”
His threats are useless when his cock is telling me how badly he wants me—almost as bad as I want him.
I reach up, wrap my palm around his hand with the gun tight in his grip, and drag it downward.
When I get to my mouth, I open, flicking my tongue out to caress the edge of the barrel. His hiss only encourages me to slide the barrel past my lips, sucking.
The lust clouding his eyes tightens my core, need drenching me. His hand on my throat goes slack. I pull the gun from my mouth as he takes a step backward, his body sagging, allowing me to sit up.
Every nerve-ending inside me is hyperaware of him and the danger hanging between us.
His eyes drop to my exposed flesh, the nipple hard and tight. “If you’re going to make threats, at least do it without the safety on,” I pant.
The second it’s out of my mouth, I know it was a mistake. The veins in his neck bulge. He strikes fast, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back, making me cry out.
“You really are testing my patience.” He shoves my legs wider apart, tearing at my dress to give him better access, and pushes the gun against my pussy, the only barrier my soaked panties.
“You like fucking with danger?” he provokes, digging the gun into me, stealing my breath. I bite down on my lip, fighting to control my arousal.
“You don’t scare me,” I grit out, anger and lust fighting for dominance.
“I should,” he snarls. Gripping my jaw cruelly, the pads of his fingers bruise the flesh beneath them.
