Page 79 of King of Greed

No one touched that photo.

Alessandra’s throat worked with a swallow. Indecision rippled across her face, and a dangerous seed of hope sprouted in my stomach. She wasn’t brushing my suggestion off the way she usually did.

Say yes. Please say yes.

“I can’t.” She jerked her gaze away from our engagement photo and finished zipping up her dress. “I have…I have a date later.”

Her admission blindsided me with a vicious blow. It shouldn’t have. I knew she was dating other people; Dante and Kai had confirmed as much based on their significant others’ gossip. But knowing something and hearing it were two different things.

“Oh.” I forced a smile past the crushed husk of hope. “Next time then.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Next time.”

The door closed with a gentle click, and she was gone. If it weren’t for the faint scent of lilies, I would’ve doubted she’d ever been there at all.

I got dressed and turned on the TV, but I couldn’t make it past the first five minutes of the Nate Reynolds movie. It reminded me too much of Alessandra. I tried to work, but I couldn’t focus. Even a deliberately brutal session in the private gym couldn’t clear my head.

Who was she on a date with? Where did he take her? Had they kissed yet? Did she sigh when he touched her, or did she count the minutes before she could go home?

My imagination tormented me with images of Alessandra and her faceless date until I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and dialed the only person I knew with zero personal connection to her.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Meet me at The Garage in an hour,” I said. “I need a drink.”

The Garage was a shitty dive bar in the East Village, famous for its strong drinks and bartenders who didn’t give a shit whether the customer was crying, vomiting, or passed out as long as they paid.

It was the perfect place for drowning one’s sorrows, which was why an assembly line of miserable-looking men crowded the bar on a Friday night.

“Jesus Christ.” Roman’s lip curled as he surveyed the room. “I feel like I just walked into a Heartbroken Saps Anonymous meeting.”

I knocked back my third shot of the night without answering.

“That bad?” He took the seat next to mine, his black sweater and pants blending seamlessly into the bar’s seamy darkness.

We’d talked a few times, but this was our first in-person meeting since our knockdown, drag-out fight before Christmas. I still trusted Roman as far as I could throw him, but our bubbling antagonism had simmered down into wary caution over the past month. He also hadn’t been tied to any more suspicious deaths, so there was that.

“Alessandra’s on a date.” The words tasted sour at the back of my tongue.

“Hasn’t she been dating this whole time?” He motioned the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

“She’s never told me she was going on a date right after we had sex.”

“Ah.” Roman grimaced as the pierced and tattooed server slammed the glass down. Dark liquid splashed over the sides onto the sticky counter. He took a sip and grimaced harder. The alcohol here tasted like nuclear waste; it was part of its questionable charm, or so those in the know said.

We drank in silence for a while. Neither of us were theshare-our-feelings and comfort-others type, which made him the perfect drinking partner. I didn’t want to rehash my problems with Alessandra; I just wanted to feel less alone.

If someone had told me three months ago I’d be feeling sorry for myself over shitty whiskey in the East Village while my long-lost brother silently judged me, I would’ve asked what drugs they were on.

How the mighty have fallen.Thank fuck neither Dante nor Kai were here to witness my misery. They would never let me hear the end of it. Neither would Roman, but I didn’t have to see him every week.

“If you ever see me this torn up over a woman, shoot me,” he said after my fifth shot. “It’s pathetic.”

Definitelynot the comfort-others type.

“You mean like the time you cried when Melody Kettler dumped you to date that exchange student from Sweden?” I wasn’t above firing shots from old weapons.

Roman’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t cry, and she didn’t dump me. We took a break.”

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