King of Wrath: from the bestselling author of the Twisted series (Kings of Sin)

12. Vivian

“Maybe you guys will finally fuck tonight.” Isabella’s voice crackled through my phone, which I’d propped against the wall so I could see her while I got ready. “It’s not a truce without an orgasm to close the deal.”

“Isa.”

“What? It’s true. You deserve some fun after working your butt off these past few weeks.” Her keyboard clicks paused, and a distracted expression crossed her face. “Speaking of fun, what do you think my character’s signature murder method should be? Poison, strangulation, or good ol’ hacking with a butcher’s knife?”

“Poison.” It was the only one that didn’t turn my stomach when I pictured it.

“Hacking it is. Thanks, Viv. You’re the best.”

I sighed.

Isabella sat in her room, her pet snake Monty draped over her shoulders while she typed furiously on her laptop. Behind her, a mountain of clothes covered her bed and half-obscured the oil portrait of Monty that Sloane and I had commissioned as a joke for her birthday last year.

Most writers preferred silence and solitude, but Isabella worked best surrounded by chaos. She said growing up with four older brothers had conditioned her to thrive in mayhem.

“Anyway,” she said after several minutes of hacking her poor characters to pieces on the page. “Back to the topic at hand. You need to take the sex for a test drive before you commit. You don’t want to be stuck with someone bad in bed. Notthat I think Dante would have that problem,” she added. “I bet he fucks like—”

“Stop.” I held up a hand. “We are not discussing my fiancé’s sexual prowess over the phone. Or ever.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. You haven’t had sex yet.” Isabella’s cheeks dimpled while Monty forked his tongue as if in agreement. “You’ll have to do it eventually. If not before the wedding, then on the wedding night and honeymoon…unless you both plan on being celibate for the rest of your lives.” She wrinkled her nose.

I put on my earrings in silence, but a flutter of nerves cascaded through my stomach.

She made a good point. I’d been so focused on planning the actual wedding I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after.

The marriage bed. The honeymoon. The heat of Dante’s naked torso against mine and his mouth—

My throat dried, and I banished the X-rated mental image to the darkest recesses of my mind before it took root.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I said in a hopefully convincing tone. “We barely know each other.”

My truce with Dante had held up surprisingly well since our late-night snack rendezvous last week, but despite the occasional conversation when we were both home—a rare occurrence given our busy schedules—my future husband remained an enigma.

“No better night to get to know each other than tonight.” Isabella leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. A mischievous glint lit her eyes. “There are plenty of sexy nooks and crannies at the club.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken advantage of those already. It’s only been…” I mentally calculated how long she’d been working at Valhalla. “Three weeks.”

“Of course not.” She dropped her arms. “It’s against the rules to fraternize with members. I’m all for rule-breaking, but this is the best job I’ve had in years. I’m not losing it so I can be a notch in some rich guy’s bedpost, no matter how hot he is.”

Her expression flickered before it brightened again. “Fucking or no fucking, I can’t wait for you to see the place. It’s absolutely bonkers. The entry hall floor is inlaid with solid twenty-four karat gold, and there’s a rooftop helipad with a helicopter rental service that’ll fly you anywhere within the tristate area for lunch…”

She continued describing Valhalla’s amenities in detail.

I smiled at Isabella’s enthusiasm even as nerves invaded my stomach.

Tonight was my official society debut as Dante Russo’s fiancée.

Our engagement party didn’t count; that had been a private affair attended by friends and family. The annual fall costume gala at the Valhalla Club, on the other hand, was a different matter.

I’d attended dozens of high-society events before, but I’d never been invited to Valhalla since my family weren’t members.

I was more on edge than I cared to admit, but at least Isabella would be there. She was working the second half of the gala, which meant one guaranteed friendly face.

I stayed on the phone with her for another few minutes until she left for her shift.

After I hung up, I took a deep breath, double-checked my reflection, and applied a second coat of red lipstick for extra confidence before I exited my room.

The faint sounds of Greta’s favorite Italian game show drifted from the kitchen as I walked to the foyer. She liked watching TV while cooking and said Dante had installed the kitchen’s small flat-screen for her when she started working for him. He’d threatened to remove it if any of her meals weren’t up to par, but no one took his threats seriously.

He was ruthless with outsiders, but he treated his staff like family, albeit one he kept at an arm’s length and had extremely high expectations of.

My stomach dipped when he came into view.

Dante waited in the foyer, his head bent over his phone. He’d adhered to the gala’s 1920s theme with his trademark precision: sleek three-piece charcoal tweed suit, matching newsboy cap, signature frown.

“If you keep scowling, your face will freeze that way.” I attempted a light tone, but it came out embarrassingly breathy.

His eyes flicked up. “Very f—” The abrupt break in his sentence charged the air, as sudden and devastating as a lightning strike.

My steps faltered, then halted altogether.

Every nerve ending sparked with awareness, sending goosebumps down my spine and oxygen out of my lungs as our gazes met.

Dante didn’t take his eyes off mine, but his attention somehow touched every inch of my body until it came alive, like a black and white film thrown into technicolor.

“You look…” He paused, an unidentifiable emotion passing over his face. “Nice.”

The dark, velvety pitch of the word nice sent a thrill through my veins.

The mirror next to him reflected what he saw—an ivory beaded lace gown that bared my back and shoulders and fell to my thighs in a graceful line. Intricate, thickly woven patterns over strategic areas saved the dress from being completely see-through, but it would’ve still bordered on scandalous had it not been for the elegant cut.

The outfit bared miles of skin and made me look almost naked from a distance, but one didn’t dress to blend into the surroundings at Valhalla.

They dressed to stand out.

“Thank you.” I swallowed my hoarseness and tried again. “So do you. The twenties suit you.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Thank you.”

He held out his arm. After a brief hesitation, I took it.

Silence wrapped around us as we took the elevator to the lobby and slid into the backseat of the waiting Rolls-Royce.

I smoothed a hand over my skirt, unsure what else to do.

“How’s work?” I asked when the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. “I’ve barely seen you all week.”

“Missed me?” Amusement lengthened his drawl.

“As much as a sailor misses scurvy.”

Surprise burst through me at his laugh. Not a chuckle, not a scoff, but an honest-to-God laugh.

The rich sound filled the car and seeped beneath my skin, where it transformed into a bloom of pleasure.

“You truly come up with the most flattering comparisons.” His dry tone contrasted with the sparkle in his eyes.

My stomach swooped like I’d just plunged down the slope of a rollercoaster.

The sight of a laughing, unguarded Dante was utterly catastrophic for my ovaries.

“It’s a talent I honed growing up.” I tried to focus past my body’s unwilling and, frankly, annoying reaction to a simple laugh. “During boring social events, my sister and I played a game where we had to come up with a good animal comparison for each guest. Alice Fong was a rabbit because she only ate salads and was constantly twitching her nose. Bryce Collins was a donkey because, well, he was a stubborn ass. So on and so forth.”

My cheeks heated. “It sounds silly, but it helped us pass the time.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Dante leaned back, the picture of casual insouciance. “What would you liken me to?”

A dragon.

Glorious in his power, terrifying in his anger, and magnificent even in repose.

“If you’d asked me before our truce, I would’ve said an ill-mannered boar,” I said instead. “Since we’re being nice, I’ll upgrade you to a honey badger.”

“The most fearless animal in the world. I’ll take it.”

I blinked at how well he took it. Most people would not appreciate being compared to a honey badger.

“To answer your earlier question, work has been…aggravating.” Dante’s cufflinks glinted in the light from a passing streetlamp. Silver, elegant, stamped with the letter V. “The deal I’m working on is a pain in the ass, but I’m flying to California on Tuesday to hopefully close it.”

“The Santeri deal?” I’d read about it in the news.

One eyebrow rose. “Yes.”

“You’ll get it done. You’ve never lost out on an acquisition before.”

His answering smile could’ve melted butter. “I appreciate your faith in me, mia cara.”

Warmth spread through me like wildfire.

Dante’s voice and use of the term mia cara should be outlawed. They were too lethal to unleash on an unsuspecting female population.

“How was Tippy Darlington’s birthday?” he asked casually. “Buffy happy?”

Another tendril of surprise snaked through my chest. I’d mentioned the party to him in passing only once, weeks ago. I couldn’t believe he remembered.

“It went well. Buffy is thrilled.”

“Good.”

I suppressed a smile as I turned and stared out the window. The question about the Darlingtons made me oddly happy.

Friday night Manhattan traffic was a nightmare, but eventually, we broke through the gridlock and pulled up to a pair of giant black iron gates flanked by stone guardhouses.

Dante flashed his chip-embedded invitation and membership card at one of the stoic-faced guards. The guard typed something on his computer, and a full thirty seconds passed before the gates slid open with a smooth electronic whir.

“Car and biometric scans,” Dante said in reply to my questioning stare. “Every person and vehicle who wants access to the property is registered in the club’s in-house system, including staff and contractors. If someone attempts to enter without proper authorization once, they’ll be turned away with a stern warning. If they attempt twice…” An elegant shrug. “There won’t be a third time.”

I chose not to ask what he meant.

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

We drove down a winding road lit by hundreds of glowing lanterns in the trees. I felt like we were at a country estate instead of upper Manhattan.

How could such a place exist in the middle of the city?

Whoever built it must have sunk a fortune into buying all the land and permits necessary to create a veritable private oasis on some of the most coveted real estate in the country.

I grew up surrounded by wealth, but this was on another level.

“Don’t be nervous.” Dante’s gruff voice interrupted my musings. “It’s just a party.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your knuckles are white.”

I looked down at where I clutched my knee in a death grip. My knuckles were, indeed, white.

I relaxed them, only for my knee to bounce with anticipation instead.

Dante closed his hand over mine and pressed it against my thigh, forcing me to still.

A rush of awareness shot through me and narrowed in on the sight of his hand swallowing mine. His grip was firm but surprisingly gentle, and after a moment of frozen surprise, I chanced a peek at him.

Dante stared straight ahead, his profile like granite. He looked bored, almost distracted, but the reassuring strength of his touch melted the edges of my rising anxiety.

My heartbeats gradually slowed as the trees cleared and the Valhalla Club itself came into view.

My breath whooshed out in one soft gasp.

Wow.

I shouldn’t have expected any less, but Valhalla was an absolute masterpiece of architecture. The elegant, neoclassical main building stretched over four stories and an entire city block. Soft floodlights illuminated its grand white exterior, and an opulent crimson carpet covered the stairs leading up to the double-height entrance.

A line of luxury cars snaked down the drive, the subject of eagle-eyed scrutiny from the expressionless guards on duty.

Ours stopped behind an armored Mercedes.

Dante and I exited the car and walked to the entrance, where a steady stream of guests in bespoke suits and exquisite dresses ascended the stairs.

Despite the literal red carpet and buzz of excitement in the air, there were no photographers present. People didn’t attend a Valhalla event to flaunt for the public; they were here to flaunt for each other.

Dante placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me into the entry hall, where I immediately spotted what Isabella was talking about—a magnificent gold V inlaid into the floor, its three points touching the surrounding circle and glowing bright against an expanse of gleaming black marble.

The gala took place in the club’s ballroom, but we couldn’t move two feet without someone stopping us to greet Dante.

“How long have you been a member?” I asked after we extricated ourselves from yet another conversation about the stock market. “You seem to know everyone. Or everyone seems to know you.”

“Since I was twenty-one. It’s the minimum age for members.” A wry smile flickered over Dante’s mouth. “Didn’t stop my grandfather from trying to backchannel his way into a membership for me when I was eighteen, but there are things even Enzo Russo couldn’t do.”

It was only the second time he’d mentioned his grandfather, the first being after our engagement shoot.

Enzo Russo, the legendary businessman and founder of the Russo Group, had died over the summer from a heart attack. His death had dominated headlines for well over a month.

Dante had taken over as CEO years before Enzo’s death, but his grandfather had stayed on as president and chairman of the board. Now, Dante held all three positions.

“Do you miss him?” I asked softly.

“Miss isn’t the right word.” We passed through the foyer and down a long hallway toward what I assumed was the ballroom. Dante’s voice was devoid of emotion. “He raised me and taught me everything I know about business and the world. I respected him, but we’d never been close. Not the way grandfathers and grandsons are supposed to be close.”

“What about your parents?” I didn’t know much about Giovanni and Janis Russo other than Giovanni had passed on running the company.

“They’re doing what they always do,” Dante said cryptically. “You’ll see.”

Right.We were spending Thanksgiving with them in Bali.

We passed through another security check near the ballroom before the doors opened and instantly transported me into a world of glittering 1920s decadence.

An Art Deco bar spanned the full length of the eastern wall, its black lacquer and gold accents shining with as much luster as the bottles of top-shelf liquor behind it. For those who didn’t want to wait at the bar, impeccably dressed servers circulated with gin and tonics, martini carts, and champagne trolleys brimming with bubbly.

Lively music from the jazz band danced over the soft clink of glasses and elegant laughter, and intimate spaces scattered throughout the room like oases of rich velvets and plush seating. In one corner, dealers lorded over half a dozen poker tables; in another, a silent film played via an old-school projector reel.

The ballroom itself soared four stories toward a glass dome, where a breathtaking projection of the night sky painted it with constellations so vivid I almost believed I could see Orion and Cassiopeia from Manhattan.

“Live up to your expectations?” Dante’s hand lingered on my lower back.

I nodded, too distracted by the surrounding opulence and hint of possessiveness in his touch to come up with a witty answer.

Dante and I spent the first hour mingling with other club members. Unlike at our engagement party, we were perfectly in sync, stepping in when the other didn’t answer and excusing ourselves when the conversation had run its course.

Toward the end of the hour, Dominic Davenport, whom I remembered from our party, pulled him away to discuss business. I took the opportunity for a quick bathroom break with Dominic’s wife Alessandra.

“I love your dress,” she said as we retouched our makeup. “Is it Lilah Amiri?”

“Yes,” I said, impressed. Lilah was a talented but an up-and-coming designer; not many people recognized her work on sight. “I saw it at New York Fashion Week and thought it would be perfect for tonight.”

“You were right. Dante can’t take his eyes off you.” Alessandra smiled, a trace of sadness crossing her face. “You’re very lucky to have such an attentive partner.”

With her thick, caramel brown hair and blue-gray eyes, she was extraordinarily beautiful, but she also seemed deeply unhappy. Our exchange about the dress had been the most animated I’d seen her all night.

“It’s not all sunshine and roses. Dante and I have our differences. Trust me.”

“Differences are better than nothing,” she murmured. We exited the bathroom, but she stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. “I’m sorry, I’ve come down with a terrible headache. Can you please tell Dominic I’ve gone home?”

A frown touched my brow. “Of course, but wouldn’t you rather tell him yourself? I’m sure he’ll want to know if you’re not feeling well.”

“No. Once he gets into business mode, it’s impossible to pry him away.” A tiny, bitter smile flashed across Alessandra’s face. “I’ll leave him to his work. It was nice meeting you, Vivian.”

“You too. I hope you feel better soon.”

I waited until she disappeared around the corner before I approached Dominic and Dante.

Dominic’s gaze flicked to the empty space next to me.

“Alessandra said to tell you she has a headache and had to go home,” I explained.

Unidentifiable emotion flashed through his eyes before it vanished beneath pools of inscrutable blue. “Thank you for letting me know.”

I paused, waiting for more of a reaction. None came.

Men. They were clueless half the time and callous the other half.

Dante and Dominic weren’t done talking shop, so I excused myself again and wound my way to the bar. Discussing the ups and downs of the SP 500 was not my idea of a fun Friday night.

A smile broke out on my face when I spotted a familiar glint of purple-black hair behind the counter.

“What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?” I quipped, taking the stool closest to her.

Isabella looked up from the drink she was making. “Finally, the VIP deigns to drop by.” She garnished the glass with a wedge of lime and slid it toward me. “Gin and tonic, just the way you like it.”

“Perfect timing.” I took a sip. “Have I mentioned how amazing you are?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again.” Her eyes sparkled. “I saw you coming from a mile away. I guess people aren’t interested in seeking out drinks when they can have the drinks brought to them.” The bar was empty save for a couple sitting at the far end, but the themed alcohol carts were a huge hit.

“I get paid the full amount no matter how many drinks I serve, so it’s no skin off my back.” Isabella patted her pocket. “I do, however, have a gift for you. Say the word, and it’s yours.”

I sighed, already knowing where the conversation was headed. Once she latched onto an idea, she was relentless. “Save your breath. I’m not having sex with him.”

“Why? He’s hot, you’re hot, the sex is guaranteed to be hot,” she argued. “Come on, Viv. Let me live vicariously through you. My life is so boring these days.”

Despite her naturally flirtatious personality and propensity for writing about sex and murder, Isabella hadn’t dated anyone in over a year. I didn’t blame her after what happened. If I were her, I’d swear off guys for the foreseeable future too.

“You can live vicariously through books, too. Stick to those because sex with Dante tonight? Not happening.”

No matter how good he looked or how my body responded to the idea.

Isabella’s lips pursed in disappointment. “Fine, but if you change your mind, I have strawberry-flavored condoms. Magnum size, ribbed for your—”

A light cough interrupted her.

Isabella’s smile dropped like a concrete kite, and I turned to see Kai watching us with bemusement.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I’d like to order another drink.” He set his empty glass on the counter. “I can’t get through another conversation about the latest society scandal without more alcohol, I’m afraid.”

Wryness touched his last sentence.

“Of course.” Isabella regained her composure with admirable speed. “What can I get for you?”

“Gin and tonic. Strawberry flavored.”

I almost choked on my drink while Isabella’s face turned an alarming shade of red. She stared at Kai, obviously trying to figure out if he was mocking her.

He stared back, his face the picture of polite impassiveness.

“One strawberry gin and tonic, coming right up,” she said. She busied herself with the drink, her embarrassment a tangible weight in the air.

“Should I be worried she’ll spit in my drink?” Kai took the stool next to mine, looking like he’d just stepped off the set of a Great Gatsby revival.

Between him and Dante, I was convinced a twenties-style outfit increased a man’s attractiveness tenfold.

“She’s not that vindictive…most of the time. And if she does, you’ll see her.” I hesitated, then asked, “How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said mildly.

Relief settled in my chest. I didn’t think Kai was the gossiping type, but it was nice to have confirmation.

“Kai Young, you deserve all the goodness in the world.”

He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind for days when I’m feeling low.” He accepted his drink from Isabella, who gave him a tight smile before double-speeding it to the other end of the bar.

His amused gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a beat before he shifted his attention back to me.

“How’s living with Dante? Has he driven you mad with his insistence on spacing all his candles exactly six inches apart yet?”

“Don’t get me started.” Dante’s control freak tendencies extended past his food quirks and into every area of the household. Sometimes, it was oddly charming. Other times, it made me want to drive a steak knife through his thigh. “The other day, our housekeeper Greta moved the candles in the living room…”

Kai and I chatted for a while, our conversation winding from Dante to the gala to our upcoming holiday plans until he received an urgent email and excused himself to answer it.

While he typed on his phone, I scanned the room, breathless from alcohol and the electric buzz in the air.

My distracted survey stopped on a pair of cool dark eyes, and the breath stalled in my lungs.

Dante watched me, his face unreadable, but heat flickered beneath his stony stare. He appeared to be completely ignoring Dominic.

The seconds stretched into a long thrum of tension. Tiny sparks ignited all over my body, and my heart fluttered with a wild rhythm I was sure couldn’t be healthy.

A muscle ticked in Dante’s jaw when he slid his gaze to Kai for a brief second before bringing it back to me.

“Apologies.” Kai’s calm voice shattered the tension and chased away the sparks. “News doesn’t stop even for a Valhalla event.”

He placed his phone on the counter next to his glass.

Dominic said something that turned Dante’s head, and I pulled my eyes away from him with considerable effort.

“No worries.” I mustered a smile over the frantic beats of my heart. I felt like I’d run a marathon while sitting for the past minute. “The world is still spinning, I hope.”

“It depends on who you ask…”

I made it a point not to look at Dante again as I listened to Kai discuss the latest breaking news.

If he wanted to talk to me, he knew where I was.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the warmth of Dante’s attention or cage the butterflies it’d set free.