Page 103 of Dangerous King
Kingsley left hours ago, still rattled and wearing a Band-Aid over the tracker scar on his hand like it could protect him from the man who put it there. Since then, it's been the three of us, scribbling on whiteboards and pacing like caged wolves. I know Marcello loves puzzles and Stephano thrives on impossible problems—but for me? This isn't a game. It's personal.
Izzy. Cat. My mother. My family. Even that damn mutt of Cat's, Shadow—what a stupid name. I have considerably more skin in the game than they do, and while I appreciate their help, I need out of here before I lose what's left of my patience. I don't wait for either of them to agree. I walk out into the cold night and don't stop until I'm behind the wheel of my Hummer.
The city bleeds by in neon streaks and blurry headlights, but my mind isn't on the traffic. It's on her.
Cat.
I feel like a fucking addict. Like I need her to breathe right again. I didn't think a single night in a hotel suite would rewire every synapse in my brain, but here I am. Starved for her laugh. Her scent. Her soft voice calling my name.
By the time I pull into the estate, the sky has already shifted to that deep purple velvet that means sundown isn't far. The guards nod at me, discreet and watchful. Everything appears calm.
But inside me?
It's chaos. Need. Hunger. Something rough and unrelenting. I park and stride toward the house, not bothering to text ahead. The clinking of silverware on porcelain dishes, laughter, and a large baritone belonging to Mattheo greet me. They're at dinner. Perfect.
I stride into the room, my eyes searching for her the second I see the families assembled at the large table. As if sensing my presence, she looks up. Our eyes lock, and right then, everything inside me stills. She's radiant, even in surprise. Her hair is pulled back, a soft flush on her cheeks, lips parted like she was about to say something. The noise of the dining room fades. The clinking,the laughter, the conversation—it all turns to static behind the thundering certainty in my chest.
That's mine.
That girl. That heartbeat. That soul.
We had unprotected sex. She might be carrying my child right now. Even if she isn't, she will be one day, because no one else will ever touch her. No one else will ever claim her, not while I breathe.
I know what I have to do.
My stride is calm, but inside I'm nothing but fire. I stop behind my father's chair—he turns toward me, lifting a brow—and then I keep walking. Around the table. Past the siblings, noise, and curious glances.
Until I'm standing in front of Cesare Costa.
Her father.
He's mid-laugh, a glass of wine in hand, elbow resting on the table. He blinks at me, puzzled by the sudden halt in conversation. I nod to him with the respect he's owed, even if I'm still questioning how much he deserves it. Then I speak, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Mayor Costa," my voice is steady and calm, commanding even to her father, "I'm here to formally request your daughter's hand in marriage."
The room goes silent.
A pin-drop hush, followed by the sudden scrape of a chair, someone's gasp, and then?—
Chaos.
Mamma claps both hands to her mouth and lets out a joyful little shriek. "Oh Mio Dio—yes! Oh, darling!" She's already rising to her feet, eyes shining.
My father stands as well, clapping me hard on the back. "Finalmente," he mutters with a rare smile, voice proud. "About damn time."
Izzy lets out a full-blown war cry and throws a napkin in the air. "You're going to be my sister!" She yells across the table, grinning at Cat with tears brimming in her eyes.
"Oh, I knew it!" She all but scales the table, her chair crashing back as she runs around the family to pull Cat out of her chair, hugging her.
My brothers nod at me like this was a chess move they didn't see coming, but approve of. Cesare just blinks at first. Then slowly, solemnly, he rises and clasps my hand. "You have it," he says in a hoarse voice, thick with emotion. "You have it, Enrico. With honor."
Then I turn. All the noise, all the congratulations, all the excitement, dulls in the space between her and me. Cat is up out of her chair, fully engulfed in my sister's octopus arms, unmoving, frozen. So unlike the girl who raced into my arms under the stars or kissed me with fire and trust and hunger—the beautiful, dangerous creature who dropped from a tree to protect my sister. Her eyes find mine over Izzy's shoulder, wide and glassy, filled with disbelief or shock. Maybe even panic.
Izzy finally lets her go, bouncing in place like it's her own damn engagement party, and Cat stands there, flushed and frozen.
"Cat," I say quietly, reaching for her hand.
She doesn't pull away; she looks like she's about to faint. The chatter around us continues—laughter, toasts, overlapping voices—but for us, the world narrows again, the same way it always does when we're in the same space.
