Page 64 of Vicious Kingdom

Was there a shred of humanity in my temptress?

“Of course there fucking is,” I snarled, pushing out of my armchair and stalking to my bedroom.

Just because my heart started beating a little too hard, just because I wanted to kiss her more than I wanted to breathe…that didn’t give me the right to act like a damn brute.

But now the damage was done. She would never accept my offer. So today I would go above her. The trap was laid; it was time to set it.

“I’m just a jaded asshole,” I told my reflection, covered by the steam from the shower.

If my younger self could see me now, he would lust after the power I held. But what he wouldn’t understand was that I was cursed, bound to this penthouse and to this life. Doomed to be forever alone—even while surrounded in the boardroom, lauded at events, or right next to another human.

There was one time, just once, when I didn’t feel that way. And it had all been a lie.

My plan for revenge wasn’t even a good one. What was I going to do? Marry a socialite? I would forever be living two lives at home, hiding the fact that I was part of the mob. I already did that in public. My sanctuary was the only place I could be me.

And dammit, my prison was lonely.

So fucking lonely.

If I went through with my plan to bind her to me, then I would forever be Leonard Baldwin—forever living a secret half-life.

But I’d decided Annaliese wouldn’t have a happily ever after riding off into the sunset with someone else. If the cost was an invasion of my privacy, I would pay. And who knew! It might be nice not to come home to an empty castle. If I had to keep up the façade around her? Then that was the price.

I dressed, putting on the trappings of a businessman. It might be Sunday, but the Good Lord would have to forgive this sinner’s absence yet again. There was work to be done.

As I journeyed to the lobby, I texted the valet to bring my McLaren to the front. Stepping onto the stoop, the humidity smacked me with a vicious, sloppy wet kiss. The designer threads of the suit itched.

Annoyed at life and every small detail of my existence, I nearly missed the figure lounging across the street.

But the sixth sense I’d honed from my years in the mob, training beside my brother to fight for survival, tingled at the back of my neck. A second glance showed the man was staring—staring right at me.

I glared at him.

He wore a hoodie, pulled low to cover most of his face. His mouth, however, was visible. The imp gave me a saucy grin before he turned leisurely on his heel and sauntered away.

“What in the seven hells was that?” I growled under my breath.

Making a mental note to have the building’s security footage sent to me, I shook off the encounter, took my keys from the valet, and slid into my baby.

She purred in greeting, but even her voice held a mocking note.

I rode her hard along the miles between my tower and my rival’s abode. My secretary already set up the meeting, and the gates swung open in an ominous greeting. Armed with the copied documents, I let the maid show me to the office.

The murmur of voices abruptly stopped the moment I stepped inside.

“Mr. Baldwin, such a wonderful surprise,” Hertz said coolly, looking up from behind his elongated desk. A fatter version of the businessman sat on the opposite end, but his smile seemed friendly.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir!” The rotund man rose and scurried over. “I’m Jon Hertz, the silent partner.”

I shook his soft paw. “Good morning. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Of course, of course!” Jon’s smile brightened. “When a man of your caliber wants to chat, who are we to say no?”

He seemed nice. But the tickle in my mind warned me it might be a bit too forced.

Walking casually across the room, I examined the strategically decorated space. In my opinion, an office should speak to the owner’s character or be utterly simple and highly functional. Like mine. I kept no knick-knacks, allowed no stylist to decorate. It was a cold, unfeeling place where I could lose myself to work. If I had the option, I would rather have a space like my brother’s, where it spoke of power and the great mind behind the executive desk. Sandro filled his offices with things that attested to his character.

This place was boring. Curated to the highest degree. A miserable failure.