Page 69 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Perhaps I should have kept my thoughts to myself.”

“Why? So you can keep your distance?”

Salvatore works his jaw. “I can’t seem to do that around you, sweetheart.”

I stare at his face. He is in pain about something, trying to work through conflicting emotions. “It’s never too late to start over,” I say.

Salvatore keeps watching me, ignoring the comment. “You need to tread with caution, Ophelia. Crows are circling, and I don’t want to attend your funeral.”

“You think my own father would have me killed?”

Salvatore shrugs. The concern written across his face speaks a thousand words. “I’ve seen some upsetting things in my time, sweetheart. I would hope not, but you can never be sure.”

A tear falls from my eye. “My mother wasn’t telling me to stay away from the Crows. She was telling me to stay away from my father.”

“If your father is the new leader,” says Salvatore. “We still don’t know the full truth.” He looks at me, contemplating something. “Let me get you a taxi home.”

“What happened to me staying at Hotel Moretti? Has someone else booked in tonight?”

“No, sweetheart,” says Salvatore. “Hotel Moretti is reserved for only one guest. And that guest is my pretty little assistant… if she would like to stay the night.”

If I fall asleep in Salvatore’s arms, I will fall in love.

“The taxi back to my place sounds good,” I say, popping my phone back into my clutch.

Salvatore makes a quick call, turning back to me afterward. “Make sure you tell the driver your address once you are inside the vehicle. He will get home safe. And when you walk into your apartment, I want you to lock all the windows and doors.”

“I’m not going into lockdown.”

“You are for the time being, until David and I figure out who the new leader is.”

I roll my eyes. As soon as tomorrow rolls around, I’m heading straight to Aunt Viv’s art branch and accusing her of lying to my face. She may think she is protecting me by withholding truth, but all she is doing is pissing me off.

21

OPHELIA

“Thanks,” I say to the driver, popping open my clutch. “How much?”

“Everything has been taken care of, Miss Bennett,” says the driver.

Of course it has.

The driver exits the car, grabbing the door for me.

“Thanks,” I mutter, clambering out of the car. I brush myself off, heading into my apartment building, when I feel the man still watching me.

I frown, turning back around.

“Salvatore’s orders,” he says.

Noted.

I’m in the process of turning back around, heading into the lobby, when I catch another car across the road. Either my mind is playing tricks on me, or this is the same vehicle I saw in Queens.

I narrow my eyes, inspecting the vehicle. Shit. This is the same black Sedan.

I side-step, glancing at the license plate and taking a mental note.