King of Greed (Kings of Sin #3)

Chapter 11

Dominic

I DIDN’T BELIEVE IN FATE AS A GENERAL RULE, BUT AS WITH all rules, there were exceptions. I’ve only had two: the day I met Alessandra in Thayer’s library and today.

Of all the bars and all the nights in the world, we were both here tonight. If that wasn’t a message from the universe, nothing was.

“If you don’t, I’ll get half of everything. We never signed a prenup,”

Alessandra reminded me. The draft from a passing server blew wisps of hair into her eye. “We…”

Her sentence trailed off when I brushed the strands back. My hand lingered next to her cheek, savoring her warmth.

“Do you want to be rid of me that desperately?”

I murmured.

In any other situation, I would’ve balked at the thought of losing half my fortune, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss her. A real kiss, not like the perfunctory ones I usually gave her when I came home because I’d been too tired from work.

The regret of a thousand missed opportunities trickled through my veins.

Alessandra’s face softened for a split second before hardening. “I served the papers, didn’t I?”

I might’ve believed her had it not been for the tiny hitch in her voice, but her response still had its intended effect. It slashed through my composure, drawing blood and pain with one viciously clean slice.

Alessandra wasn’t the type who enjoyed hurting people, and her defensiveness was a testament to how much I’d hurt her. Out of everything, that knowledge cut the deepest.

I’d thought I’d been doing the right thing by providing for us, but our definitions on what that looked like had clearly diverged over the years.

There’s no short-term fix for something like this.

Kai’s words echoed in my head, underpinned by a familiar sweet, warm croon as the music segued into a new song.

My breaths stilled at the same time as Alessandra’s. The sign outside the bar had proclaimed tonight Latin night, but what were the chances they would play this exact song at this exact moment?

Like I said, I didn’t believe in fate…except when it came to us.

“Dance with me.”

I lowered my hand and held it out. She didn’t take it. I’d expected the refusal, but it stung nonetheless. “What would tonight look like if things were different?”

I asked quietly. “If we were the people we used to be?”

A visible swallow betrayed Alessandra’s emotions. “Don’t.”

“Indulge me.”

My voice softened further. “For old time’s sake.”

The music swirled around us, carrying us away from the bar and into the past.

“Come on, dance with me.”

Alessandra laughed at my grimace. “Just once. I promise you won’t combust into flames.”

“Debatable.”

Nevertheless, I took her outstretched hand. I hated making a fool of myself, but I’d never been able to deny her anything. “I don’t know how to dance to this.”

It was our last night in Brazil. Her mother and brother were out, leaving us alone for the evening. A breeze filtered through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of summer, and a woman’s exquisite voice crooned from the old record player spinning in the corner.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like the samba I tried to teach you yesterday.”

Alessandra pulled me to the center of the living room. “Just put your hands here like this…”

She placed my hands on her hips. “Hold me like this…”

She pressed her cheek against my chest, her breath catching when I stroked her gently through the thin cotton of her dress. “And sway,” she finished with a whisper.

I tucked my chin against the top of her head and closed my eyes as we swayed to the music. I ignored the small velvet box burning a hole in my pocket; for now, I was happy just holding her.

We’d come a long way since our first meeting nine months ago, and I silently thanked whatever higher power was out there for putting me in her path—even if they’d had to drag me there kicking and screaming.

“My mom used to play this song whenever she had a new boyfriend.”

Alessandra lifted her head. “I heard it a lot.”

I believed it. Whereas Alessandra was easygoing and down to earth, her ex-supermodel mother lived in a world of her own. She’d arrived at dinner yesterday wearing a feather minidress, diamond necklace, and her rock star boyfriend’s mouth glued to her neck.

“Who’s the singer?” I asked.

“Marisa Monte.”

Her smile was so soft and warm I felt it deep in my bones. “It’s called ‘Amor I Love You.’”

Present-day Alessandra wasn’t smiling, but the sheen in her eyes gave me an inkling of hope. As long as she felt something, we were salvageable, because what I feared wasn’t her hate; it was her indifference.

“If things were different, we would’ve shown up together,”

she said. “We would order drinks, tell each other about our days, and complain about the rush hour traffic. We’d make up life stories about the people around us and argue about whether it was too early to put up Christmas decorations. We would be a normal couple, and we would…”

Her voice caught. “We would be happy.”

The brokenness of the last word cleaved my heart in half. The picture she painted was a tribute to simpler times, and while I never wanted to be the powerless, penniless boy I’d been when we’d first met again, I did want to be the man she fell in love with.

I wanted her to smile at me the way she used to.

I wanted her by my side, happy and laughing and whole.

I wanted us back, even if it meant stripping away parts of the person I’d worked so hard to build.

“One dance.”

I hadn’t begged anyone for anything in a long time, but I was begging now. “Please.”

The song ended. The moment of nostalgia dissipated, but I barely noticed as I waited for Alessandra’s response.

She stared at my outstretched hand. My heart slammed against my ribcage, and just when I thought she would walk away and take the damn organ with her, she slipped her palm into mine.

Relief crushed the air from my throat.

I drew her closer, careful not to move too fast lest I spooked her.

One dance. One song. One chance.

“Do you remember the first time we went to a bar together?”

I asked. “I passed English comp, and we celebrated with shots at the Crypt.”

Alessandra shook her head. “How could I forget? You almost got arrested.”

We hadn’t lasted more than five minutes inside before some drunken asshole hit on her. He’d refused to leave us alone, and his advances had grown increasingly aggressive until I punched him, he punched me back, and the altercation escalated into a brawl that brought the cops onto the scene.

“It would’ve been worth it,”

I said. “I hope his nose was never the same.”

Her reluctant laugh sent tendrils of warmth spiraling through my chest. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sound. Even before she left, she hadn’t laughed much. Not in the way she used to.

Alessandra gradually relaxed as I drew more memories into the present—our first date, our graduation, our first trip together to New York. Our future was uncertain, but once upon a time, we’d been good together. We could get back to that place. We just needed time.

The song ended, and she moved to pull away before my arm tightened around her.

“Not yet,”

I said, the words ragged. I wasn’t ready to let her go, but I didn’t know how to make her stay.

Alessandra’s mouth trembled, then firmed. “One dance. Remember?”

“Yes.”

I dipped my head, wishing I had the power to turn back time. “But I have a final request. A kiss. Just one.”

She closed her eyes. “Dom…”

“For old time’s sake,”

I repeated, the words mere tatters in the tiny space between us.

The uneven rhythm of her breaths matched mine. She didn’t respond, but she also didn’t leave, which I interpreted as tacit agreement.

My mouth hovered over hers, giving her one last chance to pull away. When she didn’t, I closed the remaining distance and brushed her lips with the lightest of kisses. It was so soft, it counted more as a graze than a kiss, but it detonated every emotion I’d tried so hard to bury. Pain, longing, regret, love. No one could make me feel as much or as deeply as Alessandra did, and any control I might’ve had left snapped at her nearly inaudible sigh of pleasure.

I deepened the kiss, my mouth molding to hers with an ease that came from years of practice. My hand slid in her hair; hers gripped my shoulders. I explored her mouth with deep, sweeping strokes, drunk off the taste of apples and gin and her. After two weeks apart, kissing her felt like coming home.

Desire ramped up with every passing second. It curled around us in thick ribbons, drawing my skin taut and serrating her breaths, but I had enough presence of mind left to remember we were in public.

Somehow, I maneuvered us into a nearby hall where the staff restroom was surprisingly unlocked. It was nice as far as restrooms went, but I barely noticed the gold detailing or the marble floors. I was too focused on Alessandra—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way she shivered when I set her on the counter and rucked her skirt up around her waist.

Neither of us spoke lest we shatter the delicate spell keeping our problems at bay.

Our problems would still be there tomorrow, but tonight? Tonight was for us.

I kissed her again. Harder this time, desperate to drink in as much of her as possible. No matter how long we’d been together, or how bad I’d been at expressing myself in recent years, I couldn’t get enough of her. I never would.

I curled one hand around the back of her neck while the other traced the lacy edge of her underwear. Her stiffness from earlier in the night had melted away, and when I stopped at the sensitive juncture between her thigh and heat, she let out a noise of protest.

“Shh.”

I kissed my way down her neck, stopping at the places that drove her wild. The spot behind her ear, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Patience.”

I knew Alessandra’s body like I knew the back of my hand, and every deliberate detour elicited moans that escalated into a full-blown cry when I finally slid her underwear aside and rubbed my thumb over her clit.

I bit back a groan. She was already so damn wet for me.

Heat raced down my spine as I worked her with leisurely strokes, circling and teasing until she was dripping all over my hand. She bucked against me, her face etched with frustration and lust.

“Dom.”

A breathless plea fell from her lips. “Please.”

I hardened to the point of pain. God, nothing in the world ever sounded as sweet as the sound of my name on her lips.

Another cry tore from her throat when I finally thrust two fingers inside her. She was so wet, she took them easily, and her hips jerked again when I buried them to the knuckles.

“Oh God.”

Her nails dug painful grooves in my shoulders. “I can’t…that’s…fuck…”

Her words splintered as I finger fucked her into a sobbing, incoherent mess. Her moans and the slick sounds of my fingers pumping in and out of her filled the bathroom, drowning out my harsh breaths.

I almost lost it at the sight of her stretched so beautifully around me, but I forced myself under control. I’d focused on myself for too long. This was about her, and I wanted to enjoy every second, even if it was at my own expense.

I kept my eyes on Alessandra as I slammed my fingers back in and curled them so they hit her most sensitive spot.

She fell apart instantly. Head back, skin flushed, cries hoarse as she spasmed around my fingers. I kept the heel of my hand pressed against her clit while she rode out the waves of her orgasm, and I didn’t withdraw until the last of her shudders subsided.

I pressed my forehead against hers, my chest aching with a fierce mix of lust and longing. Our breaths mingled, and despite the erection pressing painfully against my zipper, my arousal took a back seat to the unbearable intimacy of the moment. Still, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t prevent post-sex clarity from creeping between us.

I wanted Alessandra back in our bed, our house, our life. I’d been missing a vital piece of myself since she walked out, and it was incredible to think I’d somehow taken her for granted when I needed her more than I needed to breathe.

“Come home.”

My raw plea whispered over her mouth.

Alessandra closed her eyes, her expression torn. She might’ve relented. I felt the softening of her shoulders, detected a telltale change in the rhythm of her breaths, but before she could respond, a shrill ring ripped through the air.

Fuck. I pulled back and ended the incoming call. It was from that fucking unknown number again, but when I glanced up less than five seconds later, I could tell I’d already lost her.

Panic dug vicious claws into my gut. “ále— ”

“I can’t.”

Her anguished response landed with sickening finality.

I can’t.

I spent my life dealing with lengthy contracts and complex calculations, but it was funny how two simple words could devastate me with the brutal efficacy of a nuclear bomb.

The next beat stretched painfully between us before she pushed me away and slid off the counter. I didn’t say anything when she fixed her clothes, and I didn’t stop her when she left without meeting my eyes.

I can’t. What was there to say after that?

It was only when the door clicked shut behind her that my numbness shattered.

“Dammit!”

I slammed my fist against the counter. Pain exploded, both from the impact of flesh against marble and from her departure.

I’d pushed her too far, too fast, and now I risked her throwing her guard up even more. All for a kiss and several stolen minutes alone.

Was it worth it? a voice whispered.

Yes. The answer came without thought.

She was always worth it.

I’d take any moment with her, no matter how quick or fleeting, because I didn’t know how many we had left.

I closed my eyes, my head pounding with each heartbeat. I hadn’t felt this uncertain since I was a teenager on the fringes of a shithole town, and I hated it. I’d poured a lot of time and money into stamping out any potential loss of control, but it took only one response from Alessandra to unravel my efforts.

I waited until the sharpest spikes of my migraine passed before I straightened. By the time I exited the bathroom, I’d ruthlessly forced my outward composure back into place, but I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the shadow waiting for me until it peeled off the wall and stepped into the light.

I almost stepped around him before his face came into focus.

A fist of shock punched through my turmoil over Alessandra. No. It can’t be.

Knife-blade cheekbones slashed through the dark, and jet-black hair matched the color of his T-shirt, pants, and boots. He’d changed plenty over the years—smooth skin had given way to dark stubble; teenage lankiness had morphed into solid muscle.

But those eyes were the same. The distinctive green orbs glittered, cold and amused, beneath the hallway’s dim lighting.

The noise and music from the bar became indiscernible as blood thundered in my ears.

Any hope I’d had of him being an uncanny doppelg?nger vanished when a mocking smile stretched across his face.

“Hello, brother.”