Page 3 of Throne of Secrets

And yet, his mentor had chosen him. The elite of Guardian had agreed he was capable, and for the last ten years, he’d worked his ass off to prove to them they hadn’t made a mistake. It was unbelievable that out of everyone he could’ve chosen, his mystery mentor had seen something in him—something worth investing in. That was why Ethan worked himself into exhaustion, grinding through problems, redesigning schematics, and finding solutions no one else could. And while he’d worked, he’d started to believe in himself.

And he was getting shit done. He smiled as he remembered his favorite saying his father had taught him.“If you think you can’t, you probably can’t. If you think you can, try harder and do that shit like a motherfucking boss.”

Ethan snapped his head up, blinking away the water. His old companion, Thor, let out a huff from his spot outside the shower as his gray face watched Ethan with interest.

“That’s it, buddy.” Ethan pointed at the dog. “I have to assume it can be done. No more limiting factors.” Thor flicked an ear. Impressed? Probably not. “If I approach the problem assuming limitations don’t exist, then I can complete it first and figure out the bridge later.” Ethan grinned, slapping the shower tile with enthusiasm. “Do that shit like a motherfucking boss.”

With a renewed sense of determination, he shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried off. Thor gave him a slow, judgmental blink from his mat.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ethan muttered, yanking on a pair of jeans. Commando. Comfort over everything. Then he strode out of the bathroom, heading downstairs. “Come on, old man. We’re going to work.”

Thor let out a dramatic sigh but got up to follow. Ethan detoured to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of juice from the fridge while waiting for Thor to descend the stairs like a king. Once the dog made it down, Ethan opened the secure basement door, letting Thor in first before following. Then he got to work.

Ethan wasn’t sure how long he’d been buried in his work when?—

BAM. BAM. BAM.

He stiffened. Then exhaled. Of course. The hammering could only mean one thing. His neighbor. Star Peterson. His mind’s eye immediately called up the sexy, tight, and lithe body. Her long, straight, sandy brown hair and big hazel eyes were beautiful. She was everything he hadn’t known he desired until she moved in. Bottom line, he had one hot neighbor. Still, the woman was like a human tornado, wreaking havoc in the most absurd ways possible. She’d moved into the crumbling Victorian next door about six months ago, and from day one, she’d been an enigma wrapped in a hurricane surrounded by a tsunami.

They hit it off—fast. She was funny, pretty, capable, and determined. Ethan would’ve pursued something more, except …Well. There was a small issue. The Star Curse. Her words, not his. Everything Star touched broke. Or exploded. Or, somehow, became a weapon of minor destruction. Every time Ethan tried to get closer, she’d manage to destroy, damage, or otherwise create chaos in the most spectacular fashion imaginable, ending his attempt to ask her out. So, he’d settled into a sexually frustrated, friend-slash-rescuer dynamic.

Ethan wanted more. Star? God only knew what she wanted. He’d learned that any thoughts of a relationship with Star were like a live grenade without a pin—one he had no idea if he should be holding onto.

Still, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by her. He’d done a full background check because, duh, security. Her past was mostly unremarkable. Her parents had died in a freak accident. She’d sold their family home because of limited life insurance and an astronomical tax bill. She’d started her own little business. It wouldn’t make her rich, but it paid her bills. She had no criminal record and no suspicious activity. Just an unexpected inheritance from a dead great uncle she’d never met—a man who turned out to be an accountant for not one buttwomajor Mafia families.

Yeah. Two.

Her great-uncle Nico, had played the Russo and Bianchi crime families against each other for years, keeping their books until he’d died peacefully of old age, which was, frankly, a miracle.

When he passed, the Victorian house, or what Ethan called the money pit, had gone to Star. It took years to go through probate and for Star to be tracked down, but she was finally notified.

She’d told him she had no clue who the hell Nico was, but that hadn’t stopped Ethan from falling down a research rabbit hole when she’d moved in. At first, he’d been more interested in the uncle than Star. Then he’d spent time with her and realized—she was chaos incarnate.

When Thor let out another sigh from his corner, Ethan glanced at him. “Yeah, she’s always making noise, isn’t she?” Thor groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side.

Ethan shook his head, turned back to his screen, and then …

CRASH!

Followed by … “Son of a?—”

Star never swore. Thor sat up like he’d been electrocuted. Ethan froze, then pushed back from his desk, moving quickly. Thor moved as quickly as he did, proof that adrenaline worked at any age.

“Yeah, we’re going to check on her,” Ethan said. He secured the basement, jogged up the stairs, grabbed his cell phone, and jogged outside. The moment he stepped into the side yard, he spotted a fallen ladder sprawled across the concrete like it had been murdered. His eyes scanned for Star. Nothing. His stomach tightened as he called, “Star?”

Ethan exhaled, already bracing himself for whatever fresh disaster she’d created.

“Uhhh … up here!”

Ethan’s head snapped up as his frown deepened. What the hell? At first, he didn’t see anything—just the Victorian house next door, the one Star had been slowly and disastrously attempting to renovate. Then, movement caught his eye.

There, dangling from the edge of the roof like a wayward cat, was Star Peterson. Ethan exhaled through his nose, already bracing for the inevitable chaos.

“Well,” she called, her voice painfully casual for someone actively defying gravity, “I was fixing some shingles that came loose, but the ladder fell. Do you think you could help me, please?”

As soon as he fully processed the sight of her hanging precariously from the steep-pitched, accident-waiting-to-happen roof, Ethan didn’t waste time. He vaulted over the fence, grabbed the fallen ladder, and set it against the house in record time.

Then Ethan started climbing. Fast.

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