Page 19 of Bitter Prince
My heart drummed in my throat as my nails dug into my palms. I’d expect this in New York. Even in Los Angeles. But never in Paris, where gun laws were some of the strictest. Two men exited the car, one in a dark three-piece suit and the other in jeans and a simple white shirt rolled up above his wrists, exposing his golden skin. One of his hands was relaxed by his side, while his other held the gun pointed at the black Mercedes. It was clear he was very comfortable with weapons.
As they turned in unison, giving me a glimpse of their profiles, a soft gasp broke through my lips. I stifled it with my hand as surprise slammed through me.
I know those boys.
No, not boys anymore. They were men. Tall, dark, and terrifying. Amon and Dante Leone:the lion brothers.
They each held a gun as they opened the door to the Mercedes. Two men fell out, sprawled over each other, unmoving, blood covering their now unrecognizable features. Bile rose in my throat and I inhaled deeply to stop myself from retching.
I had never seen a dead body before aside from Mamma’s, but I didn’t like to think about that. It tended to set off my panic attacks. Yet, like an idiot, I watched the scene unfold before me like my grandma when she watched movies from her good ol’ Hollywood days.
I shook my head, blinking my eyes until my vision cleared. My focus was needed on the danger that lay ahead of me.
The brothers forced one chubby man who was bleeding but still alive out of the car and pressed a gun to his temple, forcing him to his knees. He didn’t look European, and if I were to guess based on his features, he was of Asian descent.
Just like the one that tried to abduct me. Just like Amon’s cousin.
Stupidly, my eyes returned to Amon, the boy I never forgot. I watched him for any signs that he was still the person I remembered, but something about the dark expression on his face told me the innocent boy was long gone. In his place was a tall, powerful, possibly ruthless man.
“Who do you work for?” Amon asked in perfect English, his voice calm but the power behind it unmistakable. He was lethal, and the man on his knees knew it.
Desperate, the chubby man looked to Dante, but the latter was equally hard. After all, they were brothers who’d grown up under their lion king of a father.
Realizing he was getting no help, Chubby Man snarled in a heavily accented voice, “Fuck you, half-breed. Traitor to your kind.”
The words were confusing. I didn’t know what he meant, but from the amused nod they shared, the brothers did. “That’s the wrong answer. Should we go after your family, then?” Dante’s voice was colder than the darkest depths of the ocean, raising goosebumps over my skin.
“You’d never step foot in Japan,” Chubby Man snarled, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he let out a string of what I could only imagine were curses in Japanese.
“Final chance,” Amon warned, his expression dark.
“The boss knows you’re still watching her. She—”
He never got to finish the sentence, because Amon pulled the trigger. A single shot rang in my ears with the haunting revelation that the little boy who’d once held stars in his gaze had become nothing but darkness.
My stomach churned and my hands slapped across my mouth to keep myself from throwing up my lunch as I watched the man’s vacant eyes roll to the back of his head.
Amon’s hand fell to his side, studying the corpse with a bored expression. No reaction. No regret.
I had to get out of here.
12
AMON, 23 YEARS OLD
Ifelt her eyes on me.
Yet it wasn’t until I killed the man that I tilted my head to the side. Toward her. I expected shrieking, pleas for help, screams. Instead, she remained frozen, hiding behind the parked sedan and staring at me with widened eyes. Eyes that were as incredible as I remembered.
Even from here I could see the color of her irises was a dizzying shade of blue.
I flicked a glance at my brother who hadn’t yet seen her. “Your turn to dispose of the bodies,” I told him.
He flipped me the bird as he made his way around, tossing them easily into the back seat of the shot-up Mercedes.
“These Yakuza fuckers should really go on a diet,” he grumbled as he heaved the last man in.
I let out a sardonic breath. “I’m sure they say that about Italians too.”
