Dark Queen - Ker Dukey Page 0,21

rattles with his labored breathing.

Hovering between life and death has made him almost frantic about adding to our family name.

He wants grandsons, but that’s not the only reason.

He built our kingdom on corruption and blood money—drugs, trafficking, cybercrime—putting our eggs into more baskets over time.

I began building legitimate businesses, collecting on favors, investments, and fear. I helped grow our empire to heights he never imagined, opening legitimate businesses in mother’s name.

If the feds ever get one of us, those business can’t be touched. They’re squeaky fucking clean.

“You don’t have to love her, Luca. Just marry and breed Leto sons.” He nods his head like it’s a reasonable request.

“Did you love mother?” I find myself needing to know. It’s a question I once wouldn’t have dared asked him, but now…

“She was a special woman—strong, loyal. She gave me sons. Love wasn’t important.” He tips his glass to his lips as I swig from the bottle. “But I did, in my own way. I still do.”

His honesty brings me relief I didn’t realize I needed.

I wanted mother to be loved, to have known he loved her.

Marriage for men like us is usually a business transaction—an agreement that benefits both partners. I always avoided it until now.

Maybe it’s time to re-think that.

Chapter Sixteen

Alyssa

If your body isn’t sore, you’re not working hard enough.

I repeat the mantra in my head as I move across the floor with grace and accuracy despite the blisters on my toes.

I’ve only been training a couple weeks and have already worn through three pairs of pointes. Breaking in a new pair is hellish.

“Lift up as you descend—point, point, point. I won’t tolerate lazy movements,” our choreographer, Michael, snaps.

It’s a lot harder here than I anticipated.

I’m exhausted every second of the day.

“Feel the rhythm of the music—become it.” He waves his hand around like a conductor. “Chin up, extend the knee. Janet!” he bites out. “I’ve seen cleaner pirouettes from a fourth grader. You’re sloppy. Again—again.”

The student’s name is actually Jewel. I’m not sure if getting her name wrong was meant to further humiliate her or he just forgot her real name. Either way, it brings a smirk to my lips.

She didn’t need a scholarship and made sure we all knew it. I despise the stuck-up bitch and will her to fall on her stupid pretty face as she begins cleaner pirouettes.

She’s so thin, her movements look fragile. A starving little mouse surrounded by hungry cats waiting to take a bite.

I push through the throbbing sting, allowing the lingering memories of Mr. Leto to distract me.

I imagine him looming like a dark, delicious shadow over me, commanding my body. Pathetic, but I can’t help it. My body responds to his in a way I’ve never experienced before.

My dreams have been overrun with fantasizes of him fucking me against the hallway wall—filthy, rough, deep. I’m sick—and I don’t want to get better.

“Enough. Go shower,” Michael tuts, waving a dismissive hand our way.

Sagging, I bend over unlacing my shoes flexing the toes as my stomach gurgles, I’m famished and have a shift in half an hour.

I stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting the droplets massage the aching muscles in every part of my body.

“I think he has some kind of crush on me.” Jewel Conway’s voice rings out, her tone high and screechy.

Jewel. Even her name makes her seem untouchable, delicate, precious.

Stepping from the shower, I wrap a towel around my body, hating the harsh fabric against my skin. “He’s gay actually,” I say, squeezing the water from my hair as I walk to the mirror beside her.

Jessica’s narrowed gaze burns a scar into the side of my face. She’s Jewel’s friend, more like a shadow than a person.

Jewel looks me up and down, her nose curled like I’m letting off a bad smell. “How would you know that?”

“I saw him with his boyfriend.” I roll my eyes. I haven’t seen him with anyone, nor do I know his sexual orientation, but I feel insulted on his behalf.

The truth is, Jewel’s movements are hesitant because she’d been gouging at her feet with scissors to remove hard skin or bunions before training began.

That’s what I really saw—the blood seeping through the fabric of her pointe. He probably saw it too.

“I did hear you like to watch people together, creep,” she snipes, and I grin back at her through the mirror.

So pretty.

So pathetic.

She’s everything I’m not.

Blonde. Blue eyes. Porcelain skin. Petite. Rich. And she immediately took a disliking to me. She’s worried