Page 13 of King of Sinners

Luke nods, rising from the couch. “This is good. This is all good.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re still you, still our fearless family leader. Roman is the one advocating for Charlotte’s life, which will make all of this easier for Leo. Because we all know how he can be when he’s angry.”

Truer words. “Do we know who was killing whom?” I ask Roman, not wanting to worry about controlling Leo’s temper for the moment. I’ve got a war to win but first I need to know my opponent.

“Working on it,” Roman answers. “They had an accent, but then again, they all have accents. They were in Italian territory, but it was a Luciano who was shot dead, so we might actually have an ally against the Italians.”

That was interesting. “Good work.” I scrub my hands down my face before I turn to Luke. “Send some men to Charlotte’s apartment. Find out if anyone has been there and watch to see if anyone comes.”

Luke gives me a quick acknowledgment by jerking his chin. “Will do.”

I look back at my brother. “If they’re new players, they might not know you, Roman, and they definitely don’t know Charlotte.” Which means the problem isn’t a problem at all.

I can hope.

Both of them head for the elevator and I turn to my room. But before I enter, I pause, staring at the door across the hall. Because just beyond that slab of wood is the woman I’ve been wanting for actual years. The very thing I’ve been denying myself.

And I’m just not sure I want to deny myself any longer.

CHAPTER FIVE

Charlotte

I wake to the smell of bacon. Padding into the bathroom I find a toothbrush…was that there last night? Brushing my teeth, I open a drawer and find a new hairbrush as well, that I quickly run through my hair before I splash some water on my face.

Checking my underwear, I find them dry and put them on under Mason’s T-shirt. I don’t have anything else to wear, and honestly, it covers more than my uniform.

Heading back out of the bathroom, that’s when I notice the cloth bag on the vanity.

I pull it open, clothes and products fill the interior.

I’m debating a shower when my door opens. A shirtless Mason fills the door, instantly making my mouth dry. “Come eat.”

My eyes lock with his as my eyes drift down the rippling muscles of his chest and abs. “You’re brave.”

“For what?”

“Cooking bacon shirtless,” I answer, moving toward him and the smell of food. How long has it been since I ate? “Grease splatters.”

He quirks a one-sided grin and then disappears from the door, leaving me to follow.

Stepping out into the living area, I can already see the table is set for two. A fresh bowl of cut fruit sits on the counter. Mason cracks eggs into a pan, the toaster pops, the smell of fresh toast competes with the bacon in the best way.

“Have a seat,” he says, flipping the eggs out on to plates.

Last night I asked this man to shoot me. This morning he’s serving me breakfast. Weird.

But I don’t bother to share my personal feelings on the topic of Mason cooking for me as he sets a plate of food in front of me.

I dig in, the sleep and the food making me feel somewhat normal considering.

“Can you be ready in a half hour?” Mason asks, having just finished his plate.

I swallow down my bite. “Of course. But may I ask for what?”

He leans back in his chair. “We’re stopping at your apartment to pick up necessities and then we’ve an appointment at a clothing store.”

---