Page 294 of Sweet Nightmare

forty-two

. . .

Asking For Her Heart

“Asking an ex-mob boss for his daughter’s heart is not for the weak.” — K

The first thing I do after landing in New York isn’t checking into my hotel, calling Junie, or heading to my U.S. label.

It isn’t even finding Artemis.

It’s driving to her parents’ house.

Kozo calls me clinically insane. Zymon stares at me through a video call for nearly ten seconds before finally saying, “Fucker, you’re voluntarily meeting a former mafia boss before asking his daughter to be yours officially?”

Yes. Because there is no other way.

Artemis deserves the queen treatment. If I want a place in her life, I’m not going to sneak into it. I’m not going to hide behind leaked videos and photographs, a fucking love song, or whatever excuse I can come up with to avoid the doing the right thing.

I’m going to knock like the man that I am.

Even if that man has a reasonable chance of getting whacked by the once-rumored crime boss of Detroit.

The massive black-and-gold iron gates open slowly as my car approaches, revealing an estate that looks as though it’s been pulled straight from one of the old European paintings Artemis’ father is famous for and dropped into the middle of New York. Light snow covers the hedges, stone paths, and sculptures scattered throughout the grounds. Everything about the place screams old money without actually needing to say it. Generations of wealth are built into the stone, the architecture, the gardens, and probably the fucking silverware.

Once inside, I park near the entrance, where a butler is already waiting for me. He leads me through the enormous foyer and into a sitting room lined with family portraits before quietly leaving me alone.

I don’t sit.

I can’t.

My attention keeps drifting toward the portraits. Artemis at five, already looking bored with life. Artemis standing beside her siblings, her first skating medal hanging around her neck. The Volpe family at galas.

Then I spot one of her as a teenager, already carrying herself like she owns every room she walks into.

Fuck. Beautiful since birth.

That beauty hasn’t changed. It never will.

I’m too fucking nervous to sit, and not because I’m scared. I’ve dealt with worse than one famous, intimidating father. I’ve survived poverty, hunger, predators, cruel CEOs, and enough bullshit to last several lifetimes.

This is different.

I want this woman.

And for that to happen, I need her parents to approve.

Not because I need their permission to love her. I can do that regardless.

But because I don’t want to walk into her life carrying another conflict she never asked for. She deserves more than that. She deserves someone who understands that loving her means respecting everything that came before him.

I barely have time to finish the thought before footsteps echo through the hallway.

Andrea, Artemis’ mother, enters first.

She wears cream trousers and a cashmere sweater, looking effortlessly elegant. Her eyes light up when she sees me, and she crosses the room with her arms already extended.

“Khaos.”