Page 39 of Fortress of the King

Shit.

“Really, there’s nothing to tell.” Except I’m having dinner with him and I’ve got to seduce him, or my sister –who’s been kidnapped– will be harmed. “But he does seem like an amazing man. He’s accomplished a lot for someone so young in his field.”

His field being mayhem, corruption, crime, and murder.

She studies me for a moment, but her smile stays in place. I can’t tell if she’s friend or foe, yet she seems friendly enough, even if there is a slight edge to her nosiness. Suddenly, she laughs. “A woman not affected by Angelo? That’s a first.”

“I work for him,” I reply awkwardly. “So, it’s strictly professional.”I am so going to hell for lying.

Her lips twitch as she leans toward me and whispers, “Well, if you get to spend some time in the sack with him, it really is worth crossing those boundaries because that man can move, and he’s very gifted with his mouth if you get my drift, between us girls that is.”

Ah.So, she’s slept with Angelo.My stomach knots ever so slightly.

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Not that I’d know, of course.” She laughs and pats her chest as I force a smile. “Typical of Angelo to seek out the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m sure that he has a long line of admirers, though I just sell art.” I hope that sounds believable.

She gives me a cheeky smirk and nods, and I know she thinks we’re fucking; it’s written all over her. At least she’s not a jealous ex.

Thankfully, the line moves up and I place my order at the counter and move out of the line.

She places hers, too, and I pretend to look at something on my phone.

“It was nice meeting you,” she says, passing me by towards a table. “I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime.”

“Likewise,” I reply, nevertheless I’ve no intention of doing any such thing.

I wonder if Angelo is friends with all the women he’s slept with. If so, he’s probably besties with most of Boston’s elite.

I shake it off. I don’t give a shit about what he did before me, it’s what he’s going to do now that matters.Stay focused!

I clean my apartment when I get back and get ready for my date, soaking in the jet tub before wearing a tight camel-colored body con dress and nude patent heels. It is slightly revealing but hopefully doesn’t screamcome and take me.

Leaving my hair down, I curl the ends and take extra special time with my makeup. I want to look nothing like myself. I want to look like someone completely unrecognizable, because that’s how I feel at the moment; like a zombie who’s going through the motions. Maybe it’s better this way, maybe the sins of my mistakes will not be so blemished if I hide who I really am. And I have to. Angelo doesn’t get the real me. Nobody does.

The vulnerable, loving, kind-natured girl I used to be, she’s gone. He gets the person I have become. And all the bitterness and anger I feel will bottle up inside me until this is done.

When I’m satisfied with my appearance, it’s almost time. I head downstairs and see a shiny BMW waiting at the front of my apartment.

The same driver from the other night steps toward me and opens the door.

“Good evening, Miss Michaelson.”

“Hello,” I reply, feeling awkward. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name last time, it feels a little impersonal not to know what to call you.”

He gives me a nod but stays stoic. “It’s Gus.”

See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?“You can call me Rayne,” I tell him.

“Very well.”

I expect to see Angelo there when I climb in, but the seat is vacant.

I frown as the door closes, and when Gus climbs in the driver’s seat, I say, “Um, Gus, where’s Angelo?”

He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “There’s been a change of plans,” he says. “My instructions are to drop you off at Casa De Roma for the evening.”

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