Page 46 of King of War

Micah pulls his cell out of his pocket. “I’ll reserve us a booth at the club.”

Luca grins, as pleased with that idea as Rafael is.

“We can leave when we want to, but I’ll be going home.”

Rafael pulls a face. “Aw, you’re no fun anymore.”

I sink the cognac, much nicer than the cheap brandy the don is offering his guests. “Yeah, well I’d rather be at the club with you guys than home with the mood hoover.”

Rafael snorts, while Luca shoots me a look that tells me he doesn’t quite believe me. Which is fair, because I’m not sure I believe me.

I say goodbye to my brothers and go to find the don. He makes a show of loudly declaring his respect for me when I tell him I’m leaving, then he drops his voice to a whisper. “I am disappointed that Angelo did not attend. This is for my son, Enzo. It does not look good.”

Your son, Carmine, not the fucking Messiah. I bite my tongue, knowing that’s likely the brandy talking. “He performed the service like you asked.”

He tuts. “He should have been here to pay his respects.”

“I’m sure he would have been here if he could have been,” I assure him, which is a lie. Angelo would have hated this, surrounded by the kinds of people he usually only sees in confession these days.

He grunts like he’s annoyed but then he kisses my cheek. Fucking Judas.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

RAYNE

Istare out of the window and watch the sun setting across the horizon, a rose-gold ribbon of fading sunlight streaking across the sky. Glass buildings catching the last of the rays and glimmering like beacons, attracting far-off visitors from distant lands. It would make a stunning photograph, and I really wish I had my camera. I had forgotten the beauty of Nevada, too often overshadowed by the glittering lights of its famous Strip.

The elevator signals Enzo is back, and I brace myself for his presence. Of course, he may decide to head straight to his study—or his bed depending on how much he’s had to drink today—but I find myself wanting him to come into the den and sit with me. We haven’t spoken since the incident in the kitchen yesterday evening when he looked like he was being crushed by the weight of his own guilt. It’s mildly offensive that he might think he in any way took advantage of me, like I’m not an autonomous human being who makes decisions for myself. But still, I’d prefer to clear the air, and also clarify there will be no repeat performance. We fucked all of that angst and tension out of our systems now, surely?

His footsteps grow closer, and my treacherous heart does a little fluttery thing when he walks into the room. I tell myself that it’s just because he looks so damn good in that suit. The top few buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone and his black tie hangs loose around his neck, making him look effortlessly disheveled. He really is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life.

He grabs a bottle of brandy from the cabinet and two crystal tumblers, setting them on the coffee table before dropping onto the sofa opposite me. He runs a hand through his thick dark hair and closes his eyes.

“How was today?” I risk asking.

“Not fun.” His eyes snap open, landing immediately on mine. I shiver. Then he leans forward and pours himself a brandy. “Want one?”

“Yes, please.” I close my book and place it on the sofa next to me, and Enzo hands me a brandy. This feels all too civilized and pleasant for my liking.

“I had a lot of interesting conversations today,” he says cryptically, eyeing me over the rim of his glass.

“Any that you’d like to share with me?”

He downs his brandy in one gulp. “Not particularly.”

“So why even mention them, Enzo?”

“Because you asked how today was.” He shrugs. “And because who the fuck else am I going to talk to.” He pours himself another measure.

“You’re drunk.”

He smirks and knocks the second drink back. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Rayne?”

“Did you come in here to pick a fight? I mean, it’s cool if you did because I’m bored as hell, but just so I know what Enzo to expect this evening. Dealing with all of your personalities is exhausting.”

He licks his lips. “I didn’t come to pick a fight, no.”