Page 120 of King of Envy

Vuk’s hand tensed. After a moment, it relaxed again, and he tentatively curled his fingers around mine.

We stayed like that for the rest of the ride.

* * *

VUK

We arrived at the Kidane home close to dinnertime. Rush hour traffic had slowed us down, and I would’ve been more worried about the Brotherhood somehow ambushing us from a nearby car had I not taken my fully armored Range Rover.

Bulletproof glass, Kevlar-reinforced interior, puncture-proof tires, blast-protected flooring—I didn’t leave anything to chance.

Luckily, we made it to Ayana’s parents’ house without incident. I helped carry her luggage to the door, where they were already waiting with anxious expressions.

My palm tingled from Ayana’s touch. My chest was still tight—from recounting the aftermath of the fire or her tender response, I wasn’t sure. Either way, the weekend had barely started, and I was already out of my depth.

Abel and Saba Kidane cooed over Shadow and fussed over their daughter, demanding to know whether she’d eaten lunch and if she’d been getting enough sleep. Her father shook my hand in greeting while her mother turned to me.

“Vuk.” A warm smile eased the worry lines around her eyes. “Thank you so much for driving Ayana down and for…everything. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

I’d had two of my men drive them home on Monday. They were still in D.C., keeping an eye on things until I arrived.

Tears glistened in Saba’s eyes. Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder, and she wiped them away with an embarrassed expression.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I’m normally not this emotional, but if you hadn’t been at the church—if you’d been a few minutes late—we wouldn’t…I wouldn’t…”

Heat curled around my ears. I glanced at Ayana in a silent plea for help. I appreciated her mother’s sentiment, but I hated when people thanked me, and I had no clue what to do with tears.

“Mom, I’m okay,” Ayana said gently. “Let’s not dwell on the past.”

“She’s right. No need to torture ourselves with what-ifs,” her father declared. “Let’s get them inside. It’s chilly out.”

“You’re right.” Saba cleared her throat and stepped aside so Ayana and her husband could move Ayana’s overstuffed suitcases into the entryway. If that was only an eighth of Ayana’s closet, I couldn’t imagine what her full collection looked like. “Vuk, Ayana mentioned you’re driving her back as well. Where are you staying for the weekend?”

Ayana said her entire family learned ASL after one of her aunts lost her hearing, so I signed my response.

I booked a hotel nearby.

Saba looked appalled. “A hotel? Nonsense. You saved my daughter’s life, and you drove her all this way. You’ll stay with us. We have a guest room upstairs, and you’ll join us for dinner. Aaron and Liya are coming by as well.”

“Mom.” Ayana sounded embarrassed. “Vuk probably has dinner plans already. Don’t strong-arm him into staying.”

“Dinner plans where? What restaurant meal compares to a homemade one?” the elder Kidane countered. “And I say that as a restaurant owner.” She faced me again. “You’re staying with us. We’ll get the guest room ready.”

I was the CEO of a multibillion-dollar corporation and a former member of an assassins’ organization, but even I knew better than to argue with a determined mother.

Thank you. I’d love to stay.

My previous dinner plans had consisted of takeout and working on my laptop. I wasn’t sorry to see them go.

“I’m sorry,” Ayana muttered as we walked deeper into the house. “Once my mom sets her mind on something, there’s no arguing with her.”

Sounds like someone else I know.

My mouth twitched when she elbowed me in the ribs. I liked talking to Ayana when we were alone, but I preferred to use ASL when we were in earshot of other people.

The Kidanes lived in a cozy two-story house on the border between D.C. and Maryland. It was decorated in the same bright colors as Ayana’s apartment, and there were photos of their children and grandchildren everywhere.

Three full shelves in the living room were dedicated to various blue ribbons, academic trophies, and athletic medals. Framed magazine covers decorated the walls—there was Ayana posing forVogue, Ayana smiling inHarper’s Bazaar, Ayana smoldering forCosmopolitan. Pictures of her sister at her pinning ceremony for nursing graduates lined the mantel next to behind-the-scenes shots of her brother in the kitchen.

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