Page 77 of Vengeful King

Katrina doesn’t say anything. She’s quiet, her lips pressed into a line, barely breathing. I can see just how scared she is of him, just how much she truly thinks this man can kill her. It’s as if he’s some ancient god, ready to descend without warning.

It makes me furious. Something flares in my chest and before I can think, I lean closer to her. I look her in the eye when I say, “He is going to die.”

I believe every word. I know I’ll make it true. There’s no way that I’m going to ignore this problem or let Yuri do whatever he pleases until it hurts me or my family. I’m not a man to sit back and wait.

I know how to be smart about attacking. Right now, I’m thinking of all the ways I can and should make him pay for what he’s done.

And despite myself, I can feel how I’m becoming more and more protective of Katrina.

I’m becoming protective of this woman, and I know I need to stop. I know my brothers saw her come downstairs when they were visiting, and I know they wonder what I’m doing.

There was no room for interpretation when she was barely dressed.

They saw her and saw a familiar sight—a woman in barely-there pajamas, rolled fresh out of bed. They saw in the way she moved that we fucked, and that we fucked hard. They knew it; they know me too well not to have seen it.

I know they didn’t judge me for what they saw. They know my marriage is business only; they wouldn’t expect me to not have a woman in my bed. They have no illusions about some kind of chastity or blind dedication to a woman I’ve barely met and never known.

But my brothers know better than anyone else that I don’t keep women in my bed for long, and they’re usually not ones to stick around for pleasant conversation. I hire women for my bed, and they leave after. They don’t stick around to lounge in pajamas and talk to my brothers’ wives.

I know that they recognize just how unusual this is, with me and Katrina. It’s not just one or two nights. I’m not paying her; she’s not a casual fuck I brought back home.

And she tried to kill me.

More than anything, I know that must bother my brothers. The woman who tried to kill me not so long ago has been sharing my bed. It’s a matter of safety, a matter of potential harm. They want me safe.

They don’t know her the way I do.

I look at Katrina, her eyes wide and fear still lingering in her features. I know what she’s feeling. I know she’s terrified, thinking of all the things Yuri probably threatened her with before. I know now that she’s isolated in life. She doesn’t have anyone to support her.

She has no friends, no family except her ill mother. Katrina is alone, and despite her strength, she can’t hold up against this onslaught on her own.

I don’t want to give in, but it’s hard to fight. I can’t help reaching out to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her lips part just slightly, a desperate hope in her gray eyes. I can see her searching for something in me.

I don’t know why I hope she finds it.

“He will die,” I say again, but my voice is lower. Softer. I need to reassure her, though I don’t know why. I just know I have to.

Something in her gaze tugs at my heart. It’s a dangerous feeling, but it’s unavoidable. Her gaze is steady, old hurts and pain hiding beneath a veneer of strength. I can see the cracks she’s worked hard to shore up. There are gaps in her defenses, places she looks after to keep herself safe.

But she’s let me in, and I know that’s important. It’s just as important as this moment right now.

I want her. I want her more than just for sex, want her in a way that’s deeper than desire. I want her more than I care to admit to myself, more than I dare let myself feel.

I know every reason I shouldn’t want Katrina. I’ve told myself all of those things dozens of times. But now, looking at her, I can’t think of anything. I can’t care. Because she needs me, I’m willing to do anything I can.

Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. It’s different than before—there’s less heat, less frenzy.

But in the place of everything else, there’s hope. I can taste it on her lips.

There’s meaning to this kiss. I don’t want to give it voice, admit what it is—but it’s there. There’s no denying it.

Then her phone rings.

It’s shrill, sharp. I don’t want to break the kiss, but I have to. Katrina looks back at her phone, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in her eyes. She reaches for her phone.

I can feel in my gut that it’s bad.

I don’t know why, aside from maybe a sixth sense I’ve honed in my time in the mafia. There’s something wrong here, some alarm ringing in my head. I know this won’t be good news.

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