Page 20 of Wicked King

The quiet shuffle of footfalls draws my attention back to the present. “Are you ready, baobèi?”

Tugging down the sheer sleeves of my ruby top, each embroidered with the silhouette of a Chinese dragon, I nod. I strategically chose the colors of my attire today, forgoing the Four Seas navy for a brilliant crimson. Blood of the dragon. I am a Guo, and today, I will take my rightful seat as head of one of the most feared syndicates in the city.

I have no idea what I’m doing, clearly, but what is that saying? Fake it till you make it.

And I will do whatever I must to avoid being forced into a marriage with the abhorrent Lei Wang or to allow him to ruin my grandfather’s legacy with his band of rebels.

“Baobèi?” Yéye inches closer, soft lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looks tired, and for the first time I can remember, he actually appears his full eighty years. He wears the traditional Tangzhuang, a silk jacket with a Mandarin collar, frog-button closures, and embroidered intricate, gilded patterns. Unlike me, he opted for the customary navy of the Four Seas. Maybe I should change… I glance down at the dragons coiled along my forearms and slowly shake my head. No. This is the image I will portray today.

“I am ready, grandfather.”

“Good.” His frail fingers curl around my shoulders, and those dark eyes find mine. “You know, Jia, I am so very proud of you. You have honored our ancestors by willingly assuming your duty as blood heir. Despite what may happen today, you have fulfilled your task in every way. I would like you to remember that.”

I nod, something about his words inciting another wave of trepidation.

Two quick knocks at the door send my heart into a freefall. Hiding out for two days in my studio since the attack has my nerves on edge.

Before I can take a step toward the door, Yéye shuffles in his cotton slippers around the brick wall to the entrance. “I will answer, child.”

“Be careful,” I whisper, unable to settle the unease churning in my belly. This is Lei’s last chance to woo me, or rather, eliminate the competition before the vote. The door creaks open, and I peer around the colorful graffitied wall that separates my bedroom from the living area.

My breath catches at the sight of the broad-shouldered Italian filling the doorway. Marco Rossi’s mismatched eyes sail across the living room and pin me to the spot. In a dark button-down shirt and a jacket carelessly flung over his shoulder, he looks unfairly attractive, like he just stepped out of a GQ spread.

“What is he doing here?” I finally hiss out, once I’ve gotten my tongue to cooperate.

Yéye whirls around, a serene smile on his face. “Mr. Rossi has kindly offered to escort us to the Triad council meeting today.”

I eye the towering male and that prickle of unease blossoms. “Why would he do that?” And why would he be allowed at the assembly of some of his greatest enemies?

“I was concerned about you after the other day.” The closest thing I’ve ever seen to sincerity crawls across Marco’s wickedly handsome face and the effect it has on my breathing is devastating. It disappears an instant later, replaced by the typical arrogant smirk, and my lungs once again begin to function.

“That’s very kind of you, but completely unnecessary. We are more than capable of making it to the council meeting on our own.”

He steps inside my apartment, and the hair along my nape prickles at this invasion of privacy. Having Marco Rossi in my studio seems much too intimate. His darting gaze scans the room, lingering on the crimson dragon graffitied across the brick wall. “I disagree.” He presses his lips into a thin line, smothering the smirk, then turns to Yéye. “As does your grandfather, which was why he agreed to my request to accompany you.”

Eyeing my traitorous grandpa, my lips pucker at this rather distasteful turn of events. How could he? Does he not remember this man was directly involved in Qian’s death? That the Italians are our enemies?

Grandpa clucks his tongue, a stern expression carving into his sallow cheeks. “Baobèi, it is ill manners to reject such a polite gesture.”

I bite back the slew of foul gestures poised on the tip of my tongue and nod demurely. My grandfather and I may share a special relationship and unique understanding of each other, but in public, I am expected to behave like a typical, respectful granddaughter. Questioning his motives would be entirely unseemly, and yet, I can’t seem to stop my thoughts from churning or spilling free.

“Of course, grandfather,” I finally manage. Dipping my head, I force my feet forward and pluck my purse from the countertop.

“I like the red,” Marco whispers as I pass. “It’s a good color on you.”

“Thanks,” I hiss and stomp toward Yéye. Just because Marco is escorting us does not mean I have to speak to him.

When we reach the ostentatious black limousine, a driver steps out of the front seat and holds the back door open.

“Please, after you, Jia.” Marco offers a cheesy smile.

“In Asian cultures, we honor our elders,” I snap and whirl back toward Yéye. “After you, grandfather.”

He passes beneath Marco’s outstretched arm, a faint smile curling the mustache above his lip. He’s actually enjoying this. How could my grandfather find this obnoxious man entertaining?

“How about now, spitfire?” Marco dips his head into a mocking bow once Yéye disappears into the back.

“Don’t call me that,” I snarl.

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