Page 67 of Dangerous King
Dante. Eliza. Tomaso. Rizio. Izzy. All watching. Silent and protective. Eliza daintily dabs the corner of her eyes with Rizio's pocket square. Rizio offers me a small nod, likewe've got them now.Then Eliza coaxes my mother into a deeper conversation, introducing herself as if we're all part of something shared.
Enrico isn't here.
Neither is Mattheo.
And even as I'm drowning in the warmth of family I never thought I'd hold again, some part of me still aches for the man who made it possible.
The man who kissed me like I meant something.
The man who isn't watching this moment unfold—whoshouldbe.
The warehouse smells like bleach and rust. The kind of sterility that only comes from the absence of life. Concrete floors, walls, and high, blacked-out windows. No sound but the slow drip of water from somewhere in the ceiling and the echo of my footsteps.
He's still in the same kennel he was put in three days ago. Three days of nothing but kneeling or curling into himself on metal grating while the world forgets he ever mattered. Three days without food and water, without the sound of another human voice.
Giovanni Giordano, once a made man, is now shivering like a dog in a cage. Silvano stands just behind me, silent. He doesn't need direction; this part's routine.
I nod toward the corner.
One of my men picks up the hose. Giovanni barely reacts before the stream slams into him full force. He chokes, sputters, and flails weakly against the cage bars, skin already raw from days without sleep, food, or solid ground. When I raise a hand, the water cuts off.
"Let him out."
The man opens the cage and hauls Giovanni up by the arms. He staggers, legs trembling, and collapses into the metal chair waiting in the center of the room. I walk up slowly.
His eyes are bloodshot. One of them is nearly swollen shut. His lips are split. But he's breathing. That's all he's earned.
"You look like shit," I say calmly.
"Fuck you," he rasps.
I smile faintly and hold up the photograph in my hand, the printed still from the security footage at the Valente. The man standing beside Kingsley. His face partially turned, the man who abducted my sister and placed her in Giovanni's basement. I need to know if he recognizes him, even if it's doubtful. He's probably just some hired gun, but at this point, every loose end needs checking.
"Do you know this man?" I ask.
Giovanni squints at it. Then spits out, "Senator Kingsley. The rotten bastard."
I stare at him for a beat. "Don't be cute. You know that's not who I meant."
He tries to smirk, but it's hard with a busted lip and half his face caved in. I take a slow step forward, crouching beside him like we're about to have a friendly little chat. I hold the photo higher, forcing his gaze to it. "The man standing next to him. Bald. Dead eyes. Do you know him?"
His tongue darts out, licking at the blood on his lip. "Never seen him."
I hum. "Shame. I was hoping you'd say that. Because lying to me right now? It's not going to help your situation."
I lean in closer. "Why was my sister in your basement?"
He flinches.
"I didn't touch her," he says quickly. "I didn't even know she was there."
"Bullshit."
"She wasplanted,Enrico. I swear to God. One minute we were upstairs; next thing I know, she's in the basement. I thought Roberto brought her. Roberto thought it was me."
I study him. He's a liar. A coward. But not a good enough actor to fake this kind of confusion.
"You're saying someone used you as a pawn?" I check.
