Page 68 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

I hold the photograph, staring at the young man. He’s topless, a black crow tattoo marked across his chest. “No, I don’t.”

“His name was Ben. We were in the Crows together,” says Salvatore, staring at me. “If your mother kept this image safe in a unit⁠—”

“This could be my father? The bastard who abandoned me and my mother while she was pregnant with me?” I tear the stupid photograph in half, handing it back to Salvatore. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I refuse to keep the truth from you, sweetheart, no matter how painful it may be.” Salvatore glances at me sidelong, netting his hands on the table. “David wonders if Ben is the new leader.”

“What makes him think that?”

“He was a strange boy. David and I barely knew him. None of us really did.”

“Perhaps he liked to distance himself from everything.”

“Perhaps,” ponders Salvatore, swiping a finger over his lip. “He used to disappear randomly. He was assigned jobs, but would never turn up for them. And if he did decide to show his face, he would always leave the job half finished. Our leader, Renato Vieri, asked us to write down our arch nemesis—someone in the city we wanted to see dead. He would train us, send us on missions. When he thought we were ready, he would send us on our own personal mission.”

“To kill your arch nemesis?”

“Yes,” says Salvatore. “Mine was Richard Campbell, a politician in immigrant affairs who deported my parents back to Italy.” Deep lines appear between Salvatore’s brow as he stares at me. “Ben’s arch nemesis was our leader, Renato Vieri.”

“He killed your leader?”

“No, I don’t think so, but it would make sense for him to lead the Crows now,” says Salvatore. “Our leader saw Ben as weak. This could be Ben’s way of seeking revenge.”

I take a big gulp of prosecco, needing to take the edge off, although I might need something stronger. “My father was in the Crows?”

“It’s a big possibility.”

“The investigative journalist was the one who pointed my mother toward the storage unit,” I say.

Salvatore stares at me intently, listening.

“My mother didn’t want to burn her findings, so she stored them in Queens, out of sight, out of mind.” I take another gulp of prosecco, twirling the glass in my hands. “This was never about the Crows. She was investigating my father.” I turn to Salvatore, hoping he can answer my question. “Why would she investigate someone who abandoned her?”

“Simple,” says Salvatore. “Perhaps he never abandoned you, sweetheart.”

The prosecco turns incredibly bitter on my tongue. I set the glass down, toss the napkin on the table and stand up, chair legs scraping underneath me. I need fresh air and the biggest hug from my mom, but since the latter is impossible, I leave the venue and give Aunt Viv a call instead.

“Ophelia,” says Salvatore, joining me outside.

He grabs my hand, but I shake him off, waiting for Aunt Viv to answer her goddamn phone. Knowing her, she will be in the middle of a spiritual cleanse, surrounded by crystals and burning sage.

“Ophelia,” Salvatore calls again.

I turn around, debate telling him I prefer Phee, but our relationship is already informal enough. Him calling me Phee only makes our dynamic more complicated.

“I’m getting you a taxi.”

“I’m not ringing for a taxi.”

“Then who are you calling?”

“My Aunt, to see what else she knows about my parents.”

“Ring her tomorrow,” says Salvatore, sliding his hand over my shoulder, and this time I don’t shake him off.

I melt into his reassuring touch instead, feeling like a priority.

I shut my eyes, breathing in the stuffy city air.