Dark Queen - Ker Dukey Page 0,31

table.

Marcello has finished eating, and my food is stone cold.

“She’s very entertaining,” Marcello taunts, pleased with his hire. Prick.

I sit back in my seat as a girl enters, her fiery red hair like a beacon.

She’s flustered, blaring my name to Simon, “Where is Luca Leto?”

My guards flank her, grabbing her arms. A silence falls over the room. I jerk my head for them to bring her to me.

Alyssa focuses on me, her brow crinkling with worry. She moves to the bar, talking to Simon, never taking her eyes from mine.

Marcello moves his chair around to get a better view of the girl. She’s young, red, frizzy hair bouncing off her head like cotton candy. It looks ridiculous.

“You,” she says my name like it’s tar on her tongue.

“And you are?” I ask, jerking my head for my guards to release her arms. I think I can protect myself from this child.

“Natasha, Serena’s sister.”

Interesting.

I look her over with new eyes, trying to find pieces of her sister within her features, but she’s nothing like her.

“I don’t want your money,” she sneers. “You killed my sister.”

“Lower your voice,” I command, standing, buttoning my jacket, my appetite gone.

“I didn’t kill her, but I will find out who did and make them pay for what they did to her,” I assure her. Running my gaze through the bar, the customers go back to their drinks but I know they’re all straining to hear what’s being said.

Scrunching up her nose, she twists her lips, shaking her head. “I know who killed her.” She looks at me like I’m an idiot.

“Her ex, Eddie, hated that she was with you—that you wouldn’t allow her a life outside of the nights you’d let her suck your cock,” she bellows.

My jaw tenses, her crass, loud mouth causing another scene.

“Out back,” I grind out to Marcello, marching through the bar, feeling the burn of eyes on me from every angle.

Entering my office, I sit behind my desk giving a barrier between us so I don’t snap her neck if she insults me again.

She’s brought in, tugging herself free from Marcello’s grip.

“Quite a potty mouth on you,” I offer a seat with a gesture of the hand to the one next to her. She shakes her head, the ginger fluff bouncing with her movement.

“Tell me about Eddie,” I encourage.

“Like what?” she glares over at me. If looks could kill I’d be a pile of ash right now.

When I don’t speak, she rolls her eyes. “He’s a drug addict piece of shit who used to slap her around.” Pursing her lips she adds, “She was a glutton for punishment. She’d always go back to him—until you.” She crosses her arms, defiant.

What is it with these ballerinas?

“What is Eddie’s last name?”

“Johnson. He’s a dangerous man,” she warns me, softening.

I want to laugh. If only she knew how dangerous the man she’s been mouthing off to is, she’d bite that tongue of hers.

“Take the tuition. If not for you, then for Serena. She would want you to take the money,” I tell her.

Her stubborn chin juts forward. “Fine. But it doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

I don’t need forgiveness, just retribution.

“Understood.” I give her a nod, letting her have closure.

She smacks her lips and leaves a little less fiery than she arrived.

“See she finds her way out,” I instruct to Marcello. “And find this Eddie, bring him to me.”

“It will be my pleasure.” His eyes light up.

Eddie Johnson is about to meet his maker.

Chapter Twenty

Alyssa

When the girl passes me guided by Marcello, I want to grab onto her and demand to know what’s going on, but she’s rushed through to the exit and would probably tell me to fuck off anyway.

“Who is she talking about?” I turn to Simon. All the warmth has left my body. “I know that girl.” She’s unmissable, I’ve passed her in the halls at Swan.

“Don’t ask questions, Alyssa. It will only lead to bad answers,” he warns before turning back to his customers. I feel rattled, and for the first time, a little afraid of the man I’ve been daydreaming about and who he really is.

Moments later, Marcello deposits her on the sidewalk waiting for her to walk away before returning.

“Marcello?” I call as he makes his way back toward us.

Holding his hand up to us, he says, “All sorted. Just a misunderstanding. Take a house bottle to every table and apologize for the interruption.” Not leaving room for questions he disappears again.

It’s another hour working on Jell-O legs before my break