King’s expression is completely unreadable. I know him, though. I know him enough to know he’s pissed and also confused as to why we’re barging in on his honeymoon when he still has six days to keep what’s mine.
It’s thirty minutes later when we’re finally back in their room, and while I tell myself not to engage in torture—I do it anyway. My eyes gaze around the room at the tousled sheets, the smell of shampoo, the half-bottle of champagne sitting next to leftover food, and worst of all—her clothes strewn around the floor like he couldn’t wait to strip her naked.
I clench my fists—can I blame him?
No.
Do I want to?
Yes.
He’s only doing what any sane guy would do when in love—make her forget about everything but him.
Me included.
I scowl.
“So…” King walks around and then pulls out a chair, grabbing at the day-old champagne and drinking some of it like it’s water. “What’s the plan? You guys just shadow us for the next six days or what?”
Tiffany reaches for the other champagne glass. I shoot her a glare, and she makes a face but jerks her hand back while Del laughs, then scoots half a glass toward her and winks.
Drinking on the job, wow, what’s next? Is she going to befriend both of them and make me feel even more like a loser or the third wheel?
I suppress a nervous laugh as I run my hands through my hair and do another small circle of the room, freezing in my steps as I see a bodice on the floor next to her wedding shoes and in the shoes, a blue ribbon.
Something old, new, blue…
My breath starts coming out in short gasps as I move away from the rest of the group and lean my hand against the wall.
It’s her ribbon.
My ribbon, actually.
The one I gave her the day before she got married when I promised her forever, and she kept it in her shoes; she actually wore it.
Hope mixes with dread like this weird omen as I look back again. It’s still there, my heart yells, you’re still there! Next to her! With her! You’re still in this despite the look of this room.
I gather myself and turn back around. “Intel tells us that there’s been a hit put on both of you to challenge the role of Capo in the Five Families; that’s all I have for you.”
A pin could drop in that room as King falls against the bed and sits, hanging his head in his hands, refusing to look at me. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I swallow, gaining courage from that blue ribbon, and say the dreaded words I would never be prepared to say. “Someone is going to betray you.”
King jumps to his feet and kicks the bed, then falls to his knees in a primal yell that I don’t think I will ever forget, even when I’m dead. He throws his head back as a tear slides down his cheek.
Del is there in an instant, and I suddenly don’t care that she’s standing next to him, that she’s comforting him, because this is his worst nightmare, after all, one of his brothers, cousins, one of his best friends…
Wants to kill him.
And is going to try.
In order to take his throne.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I found Him in the shining of the stars, I marked Him in the flowering of His fields, But in His ways with men I find Him not. I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.”—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
Del
I hold his hand and immediately say, “Get out.”
“We still have more to talk about,” Roman says in a commanding voice. “Most of it has to do with your protection—both of you.”
“Go,” King says, and for some reason, it hurts my feelings as I stumble back; he holds his head in his hands, wiping down his face, his eyes closed. “I need a minute anyway. Just go, go with Roman.”
Why does this make my chest hurt?
Why do I feel betrayed?
I awkwardly get to my feet and lower my head. “If that’s what you want.”
“Right now…” King looks up, his green eyes search mine, wild, angry. “…what I want is to keep you safe, and he can keep you safe.” He looks away. “Maybe I never could.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes. “King—”
“Go,” he whispers. “I’ll come get you with Tiffany in a few minutes. Go over her safety protocols; leave nothing out.” His voice sounds different, more dangerous, commanding.
It makes me want to stay when he looks angrier and more hurt than I’ve ever seen him before, but suddenly I feel Roman at my side, grabbing my elbow and leading me from the room. The last thing I see before the door clicks shut is Tiffany pulling out a chair next to King, sliding it across the floor, and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
It makes me want to go back into that room and tell her to back off.
It makes me rethink our whole conversation during breakfast, and it also makes me doubt my safety. Can we really trust anyone?
“It’s fine.” Roman winks at me.
Can I even trust him?
The elevator ride back down to the lobby, then the walk out and by the vineyards have me considering all the possibilities I never thought of before, and now I’m actually more afraid than I’ve ever been—next to the man who’s supposed to give his life for mine.
Why?
I take a few deep breaths and look away. It’s pretty, about noon at this point, the sun at the perfect height in the sky to shine down on all the pretty grapes and all the laughing people wandering around celebrating life while I’m left to wonder who’s trying to end ours, mainly his.
Roman reaches for my hand. It feels off, wrong in some way to touch him while I’m still in the agreement of six days, while my thoughts linger on someone upstairs having a nervous breakdown over one of his blood brothers coming after him.
How? How had it come to this?
I feel myself start to breathe heavily and then hyperventilate as I realize what this means. Some of the closest people to him, who’ve grown up with him, are going to try to draw his blood in order to take the allegiance of every Family, mine included.
“Hey, hey.” Roman pulls me into his arms as I crumple to the ground. “I’ve got you.”
Right. But who has King?
That’s what I keep thinking.
The words are stirring around my brain in a thunderous way that has my chest aching and my breaths coming out in short spurts.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Roman rubs his hand down my back.
I want to run away.
I want to run far away from here.
And I hate myself for being weak when I’ve always ever been strong for my family despite the insane things they ask me to do. And now, because of King, I want to run?
It’s too much. It’s threatening too much.
My thoughts are jumbled, confused, and Roman’s slow hand down my back isn’t helping as I try to put each thought into different boxes and categories.
“Promise me,” I say.
Roman’s hand stops, he pulls back, and that same hand moves to my chin, rubbing back and forth. “I promise.”
“You didn’t even hear what I had to say,” I point out, almost annoyed.
“I’ll promise you anything.” His hair is tousled, his smile free and easy. Meanwhile, King’s trying not to burn down his hotel room.