Dark Queen - Ker Dukey Page 0,6

I growl, my nostrils flaring.

His lips pull back. “Stop worrying about what I’m doing and start coming up with a plan to make these cunts pay. That we’re just accepting this kind of attack is an embarrassment.”

My hands twitch with the need to tighten around his neck. “It’s been one fucking day—and there’s no we. My club, my employee, my problem.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head and walks over to my liquor stand. Popping the lid off a bottle of three-hundred-dollar whiskey, he takes it down like it’s water. Pointing at me, the bottle curled in his fist, he says, “Leto is the name on that club—not fucking Luka. This is a fuck you to all of us, and Dad agrees.”

Motherfucker. Getting to my feet, I round my desk and prowl toward him. Grabbing the little prick by the lapels of his shirt, I smash his back against the wall.

“Stop telling tales to our sick father to get your dick off on a little carnage. When I find out who did this and why, you’ll know. If you’re sober and not wired out of your face, I may let you play with their insides.” I release him and swipe down his shirt to straighten the creases I made.

Snatching the bottle from his hand, his glassy eyes lower. “Until then, go eat something and take a shower, for Christ’s sake. You smell like a bum who sleeps on a park bench.”

“Whatever.” His face twists into an ugly sneer before he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, rattling the glass bottles.

Ever since Annemarie slit her wrists in their bathtub, he’s been drinking from dawn ’til dusk and taking his rage out on anyone foolish enough to look his way.

I allowed him time to grieve. Now, it’s time to sober up and come back to the fold. There’s no room for reckless assumptions.

We have enemies waiting for us to slip up and do something stupid so they can pluck at the threads until our kingdom unravels. We have to be smart. I have to be smart.

How Serena ended up grinding her ass on a pole in one of my clubs while her sister was at this place, I’ll never fucking know.

Swan Academy wasn’t unknown to my family. My mom loved the ballet. Because of her, I gave a generous donation in her name when she died.

“It’s weird Serena had a connection to this place too. Makes you wonder if we’re all destined to be linked in some fucked up way,” Marcello grunts, and irritation spreads through me.

I don’t believe in destiny. Fate is a made-up excuse people use when they fail at life. If it is meant to be, it will be. That shit’s for people with no backbone or drive to go after what they want.

My father didn’t build an empire on luck and the fates aligning. He got his hands dirty, he did the work, rose from the gutter and made a name for himself.

I’ve lived up to that name and taken it to the next level, carving my own place.

Organized crime has evolved over the generations. It’s had to.

The world is ever-changing, and we have to change with it, get our money into legitimate companies from the ground up. We’re like mites: unseen until the walls start crumbling around you.

“Let’s enter around the back.” Marcello jerks his chin to the front steps, an array of dancers all camped out with what looks like a cameraman filming them.

“Let’s make this quick,” I gripe. I didn’t have to come here myself. I have accountants and lackeys for this shit, but I owed Serena at least this much.

Chapter Six

Alyssa

It’s so much bigger than I anticipated.

The cab drives up a long, winding driveway and pulls into a gravel parking lot behind the building. I hand him a twenty and wince. It’s less than a fifty-cent tip. “Sorry.”

Cringing, I exit as quickly as possible to lessen my embarrassment. I take in the white stone building. I saw images online, but they didn’t do the place justice.

Almost like a castle on grounds of lush greenery—a complete contradiction to the city buildings. This place looks like an estate you’d find a member of the royal family living in, turrets and all.

Mom was obsessed with the royals even though we had no connection to the United Kingdom. She had all the princess Diana merchandise.

Squeezing the handle of my bag, I round the building and take the front steps two at a time.

Inside is a stark contrast to