Page 8 of Brazen King

Papa’s thick eyebrow quirks, and he considers her statement. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Just say the word,” I add, anticipation building in my core when I think about removing Killian King from the equation.

Like Papa said, he’s become a royal thorn in our side, and I’m more than willing to fix that.

“Maybe silencing him would put Don Lucian back on his heels as well,” Tatiana adds.

“He was there to witness all of that peacockery the Irish put on this evening,” Papa acknowledges. “If Killian King were to turn up dead, I imagine Lucian might be able to put two and two together.”

“Especially if word were to get out that your secret weapon came out to play.” My sister smirks, her full red lips curling at the corners.

I love it when her villainous side comes out. She’s normally so passive, ready to reason and logic her way out of usingunnecessary violence—a lot like our dad in a way. But poke the bear long enough, and you’re sure to get the claws.

Papa nods again, and this time when he meets my eyes, the resolve is unmistakable. “Yes, I’ve had enough of the Irishman’s antics. Do what you do best,lapochka,” he says, and his eyes glint with pride.

Excitement bubbles up inside my chest, and I smile. “With pleasure.”

4

KILLIAN

Ican’t wipe the smirk off my face whenever I think about Boris Sokolov’s fury this evening.

He was positively livid at my intrusion on his meeting, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s reaching his breaking point.

Perfect.

That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. Because an angry man is more likely to misstep.

And when he does, I’ll be waiting.

Loosening my tie, I peer out at the waves crashing against the shore behind my beachfront property. In the quiet gated community of Seagate, it hardly feels like I’m in the bustling city of New York anymore. And that’s just the way I like it.

If not for the brilliant lights that stretch across the water of the bay, I could easily lose sight of that fact.

Even though it’s not quite as grand of a social statement as living in the penthouse of Central Park Tower, I like the extra room to stretch my legs. Not to mention the fact that all my walls—and floors and roof—belong only to me. And it doesn’t take a ten-minute elevator ride to get to my front door.

And I don’t have to rely on the building’s front-desk security to protect me. I have a round-the-clock guard to do that. Trusted men who walk the perimeter constantly—all who answer to Lance, the foster brother I trust intrinsically.

The best part is I even get a yard with my coastal Brooklyn property. And in my opinion, it’s got the best view in town. Since it backs up to the Lower Bay, I can look out on miles of watery horizon—and enjoy the private beach. Which is exactly why my west-facing walls are entirely made of glass.

They look out on the glassy water of the bay. Off in the distance, the shimmering lights of Staten Island reflect back at me, filling me with a sense of peace.

My kid sister, Quinn, usually drinks her morning coffee on the open deck two floors below. But at this time of night, she’s sound asleep in her wing of the house.

Glancing at the time, I note that my plans to undermine Boris Sokolov have, yet again, cut into my eight hours.

I need to get better about calling it quits for the night—as Lance has told me countless times…in so many words.

Turning away from my calming view, I toss my tie onto the back of my white leather tufted reading chair, followed shortly by my steel-gray suit jacket. And as I unbutton my dress shirt, pulling it out from the waist of my slacks, I head into the bathroom to wash my face.

It’s been a long day.

Long but fun.

I love winding people up. And it’s been my solitary mission to do so to Boris Sokolov for weeks now. It’s going to be even more fun when I manage to push him past his breaking point.

“There’s a thin line between strategy and a death wish.”Lance’s words ring clearly in my mind as I wipe my face dry.

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