King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)

Sloane and I spent a quiet Thanksgiving together before I was called away on club business. It was a holiday weekend, but that didn’t stop emails from trickling into my inbox about construction, lighting, inventory, and a million things I had to take care of before the grand opening.

She slept over at my house on Thursday and Friday, but we parted ways on Saturday to take care of our respective work. She acted a little strange when we said goodbye, but I had a feeling spending such a big holiday together had freaked her out, so I didn’t pry. I didn’t want to drive her away by pressing too hard, especially given the week’s events.

I was still torn up about Rhea and Pen, but at least I’d confirmed with my contact about getting the intel I needed. He’d have the first batch ready soon so I could (hopefully) set Sloane’s mind at ease.

Besides Sloane, the only person I saw over the weekend was Luca. He seemed to have gotten over his Leaf spiral and was back to working at his family’s corporate office in the city. Either that, or Dante had put the fear of God in him enough to kick his ass into shape.

I still didn’t know why my father had put Dante on the inheritance committee, and my attempts to ask the man in question had so far been rebuffed.

Maybe Dante was still upset about the time I’d roped Luca into hosting a Vegas penthouse party that ended with the cops shoving us into jail for the night. If so, that didn’t bode well for a favorable vote during my first evaluation, but I’d worry about that later.

I had more pressing matters at hand.

“Our Void system is perfect for this space,” my newest contractor said. “It doesn’t hit the market until late next year, but I’m happy to give you early access.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I assume.”

Killian Katrakis gave me an enigmatic smile. Name number seven.

Half-Irish and half-Greek, Killian was the CEO of the Katrakis Group Corporation, an international electronics, technology, and telecommunications conglomerate. They sold everything from cell phones and computers to TVs and commercial sound systems, the latter of which was the reason for his visit today.

Normally, this type of meeting was reserved for the account executives, not the CEO of the entire company. However, Kai had given me a direct line to Killian’s office, and Killian had been surprisingly intrigued when I mentioned where the club was located. He’d insisted on seeing the space and matching it with one of his systems himself.

“I’m a businessman, Xavier,” he said. “I don’t do anything out of the goodness of my heart.” He nodded around us. “The grand opening for this will make headlines around the world because it’s attached to your name. Every club owner out there will take notice and try to compete.”

“That includes buying the same sound system we used on opening night.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You have a lot of faith in my ability to pull this off.”

The reasoning he offered for granting me early access to the Void was a simple one, but I didn’t buy Killian’s concern over publicity for his company’s latest sound system. The entire product vertical made up a fraction of the Katrakis Group’s revenue compared to phones and laptops, but perhaps it was a passion project or a pride thing.

Billionaires were eccentric, and if the rumors were true, the notorious bachelor was eccentric in many ways.

“I have faith because I recognize the same quality in you that I’ve seen in every successful entrepreneur,” Killian said. “Hunger. You don’t want this to work; you need this to work because the club is a reflection of you. If it fails, you fail, and you would do anything not to fail.”

Unease crawled over the back of my neck.

Killian had me pegged to a tee, and we’d met less than an hour ago. Was I really that transparent, or was he really that good?

We finished our walkthrough of the vault. It needed work, but the bones were there—stone floors, original crown moldings, teller enclosures that could be transformed into bottle displays. Once I cleaned it up and installed my design elements, it was going to be a hell of a space.

“Who’s in charge of the design?” Killian asked, savvy enough to steer the conversation toward safer waters after his uncanny psychoanalysis.

“Farrah Lin-Ryan from F&J Creative.” Name number eight. She was the city’s premier interior designer for dining and hospitality spaces.

“Good choice,” Killian said with an approving rumble. “We’ve worked together on a number of projects.”

I knew Farrah was good, but it was reassuring to hear it from someone else.

After a few more questions about the design and a handshake deal, Killian promised to send a contract over and left for another meeting.

I stayed, soaking it all in.

It was my second time in the vault after Alex had handed over the keys, and I was still wrapping my head around the fact that it was mine. My place to shape, mold, and design as I saw fit (with some professional input). It was my responsibility, which was both thrilling and terrifying.

A familiar chime reverberated through the empty space.

I glanced down, my high melting into concern when I saw who was calling. I had a lunch date with Sloane soon, but I was too anxious to let the call roll to voicemail.

“Is everything okay?” I asked without preamble after picking up. Eduardo wouldn’t call me in the middle of the day unless something was wrong. Then again, it wasn’t like I had any more parents left to lose.

A brief, humorless smile flicked into existence at my dark humor. Coping mechanisms were coping mechanisms, no matter how morbid.

“I wanted to see how you were holding up and how the nightclub is going,” Eduardo said. “I’ve heard good things from Sloane, though she may be a bit biased considering the, ah, recent developments.”

So news of our relationship had made its way to Bogotá. I wasn’t surprised. I bet the inheritance committee was watching me like a hawk.

“We didn’t start dating until after I came up with the idea,” I said. “If you’re worried about it compromising Sloane’s judgment, don’t be. She’s not that type of person. She’ll be honest regardless of our relationship status.”

Even if she were the type to go easy on me because we were dating—which she wasn’t—I wouldn’t want her to. I’d succeed on my own merit or not at all.

“I know that, mijo, but not everyone does. There are growing whispers of her conflict of interest. She’s your publicist, and she’s one of your evaluators come May, yet you two are…involved,” Eduardo said delicately. “It doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t care how it looks.” Stubbornness set into my jaw. “We’re consenting adults. What we do in our free time is our business, and my father’s will didn’t say a thing about conflicts of interest, nor did it forbid me from dating a committee member. If anyone has a problem with us dating, they can take it up with the executor of his will. Sloane is one judge out of five, Eduardo. She won’t make or break the decision.”

“Unless there’s a tie, but I see your point.” A long pause preceded his next words. “I’ve never heard you so fired up over a woman.”

“She’s not just any woman. She’s…” Everything.

I almost said it. The word came so easily, it would’ve slipped right off my tongue had its potential implications not hit me at the same time like a hollow-point bullet.

Sloane couldn’t be my everything.

Yes, I cared about her deeply, and no, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She set my blood on fire whenever she was near and when she hurt, I hurt. She was the only person with whom I felt comfortable enough to share the secrets I’d shared, and if a genie popped out of a bottle this very second and asked me to change something about her, I wouldn’t change a single thing.

But all that wasn’t the same as her being everything, because if she were everything, then that meant she…that meant I…

“Ah.” Eduardo’s voice softened. “I see.”

I didn’t know what he heard in my silence, but I wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.

“How’s the CEO search going on your end?” I asked, abruptly switching subjects. I needed something to take my mind off my Sloane spiral, and the Castillo Group’s seemingly eternal CEO search was as good a distraction as any.

“It’s fine. The board probably won’t make a final decision until the New Year. There’s strong contention over which of the candidates is better suited for the role.”

“They should choose you.” I meant it as a quip because Eduardo had never wanted to be CEO, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He was included on the shortlist as a courtesy, but why wouldn’t they choose him? I’d seen the other names; he could run circles around them. Plus, he wasn’t an asshole like ninety percent of the list.

His shocked laugh rolled over the line. “Xavier, you know this was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement. My wife would kill me if I took it on permanently.”

“She might be more open to it than you think.” Eduardo’s wife was unyielding when it came to family time, but she was also a lawyer. She understood how to balance work and her personal life, and I bet Eduardo did too. “You care about the company, you have the institutional knowledge, and you’re good at the job. You helped my father build it into what it is today. What external candidate could possibly beat that?”

Silence reigned for several beats. “I don’t know. It’s a big decision. Even if I want it, I can’t guarantee the board will go for it.”

“Just think about it. I bet the board isn’t pushing it because they think you don’t want it.”

“Maybe.” He sighed, the sound edged with sadness and frustration. “Alberto had to go and leave us with this mess, didn’t he?”

“He always did like fucking people over.” I leaned against a pillar and stared at the wall of old safe-deposit boxes across from me. The sight transported me back to Colombia—my father’s room, my mother’s letter, the scent of old books and leather during the reading of the will. “You know what I don’t understand? How and why my father failed to catch the loophole in his will. He didn’t stipulate the company I should be CEO of, Eduardo. Does that sound like Alberto Castillo to you?”

“No. At least not the Alberto Castillo I knew before his diagnosis. But impending death changes people, mijo. It forces us to confront our mortality and reevaluate what’s important.”

I snorted. Eduardo always liked to sugarcoat things when it came to my father. “What are you saying? That he had a sudden change of heart while lying on his deathbed?”

“I’m saying that in the last days of his illness, he had a lot of time to think. About the past, about his legacy, and most of all, about his relationship with you.” Another, heavier pause in which I could hear Eduardo turning words over in his mind. “He found your mother’s letter at the beginning of the year when he was getting his affairs in order. Alberto wanted to tell you about it in person, but…” He hesitated. “That’s why I was so insistent that you visit him. I didn’t know how much longer he had, and some things are meant to be shared face-to-face.”

Wisps of cold stole through me and pulled my chest tight. “Don’t put that burden on me, Eduardo,” I said harshly. “You know why I didn’t want to come home.”

“Yes. I’m not blaming you, Xavier,” Eduardo said, his voice gentle. “I merely want to share the other side of the story. But for what it’s worth, your father didn’t read the letter. That was for your eyes only. He knew Patricia enough to know that was what she would’ve wanted. But seeing that letter from your mother…I think it forced him to think about what she would’ve said if she saw the two of you after her death. How she would’ve hated the way your relationship fell apart, and how it would’ve broken her heart to see him blaming you for what happened. She loved you and your father more than anything else in the world. Your rift would’ve devastated her.”

The gut punch from his words cracked the concrete wall I’d built around my chest, making my ribs ache and my throat close. “Did he tell you all that, or did you put the words in his mouth?”

“Half and half. Your father and I were friends since we were children, and we’d confided in each other enough that he didn’t always have to express his thoughts out loud for me to understand them.”

The safe-deposit boxes blurred for an instant before I blinked the haze away. “Fine. Let’s pretend everything you said is true. What does that have to do with the will?”

“I can’t say for sure. He didn’t tell me he was changing his will until after the fact,” Eduardo admitted. “I didn’t know about the new inheritance clause, nor did I know I would be on the evaluation committee. But you’re right. Alberto Castillo was not a man who would’ve overlooked such a glaring loophole, which meant he put it in there on purpose. I suspect…” This time, his hesitation carried a hint of caution. “It was his way of simultaneously extending an olive branch and pushing you closer to your potential. He could’ve easily cut off your inheritance unless you followed whatever terms he dictated, or he could’ve written you out of the will altogether. But he didn’t.”

An olive branch from my father. The idea was so absurd I wanted to laugh, but Eduardo wasn’t wrong. My father could’ve cut me off. It would’ve been his last big fuck you before passing.

I thought he’d changed my inheritance terms so he could manipulate me into doing what he wanted even after his death. That was definitely part of it, but…maybe there was more to the story.

Or maybe I’m naive and delusional.

“He didn’t sound like he’d had any change of heart during our last conversation,” I said.

Grow up, Xavier. It’s time for you to be useful for once.

My phone slipped in my grip before I tightened it.

“I’m not saying he was a saint. He had his pride, and I also suspect he thought you would’ve rebuffed any overtures he made. The last thing a dying man wants is another fight with his son,” Eduardo pointed out. “You don’t have to take everything I said as gospel. Those are my conjectures, not the hard truth. But allow yourself the possibility that it is true, and let that be your closure. Your father is gone, Xavier, but you’re still here. You can hold on to your grudge forever and let it consume you, or you can put the past where it belongs and move forward.”

Eduardo’s words echoed long after I hung up.

My first instinct was to reject his interpretation of events. I loved him like a father more than I did my own, but he was too biased when it came to his oldest friend and business partner.

However, what he’d said made a strange, twisted sort of sense, and it scared the crap out of me. I’d clung to my resentment toward my father as a lifeboat through the storms of our relationship. Without it, I might drown beneath a sea of regrets and what-ifs.

Billows of uncertainty followed me out of the vault and onto the street, where they dissipated beneath an onslaught of noise and activity. I knew they would coalesce again when I was alone, but for now, I happily pushed them to the side as I walked to my lunch date with Sloane.

People could say whatever they wanted about the city, but it provided distractions like no other.

Sloane was already waiting for me at the restaurant when I arrived. It was her turn to pick, and she’d chosen a tiny family-run restaurant nestled in the heart of Koreatown. It smelled incredible.

“Sorry I’m late.” I gave her a soft kiss hello before taking the seat opposite hers. “Eduardo called, and our conversation ran long.”

“It’s okay. I got here not too long ago.” Her eyes sharpened with knowing. “Did he call about your inheritance?”

“Sort of.” I gave her a brief summary of our conversation.

When I finished, her face had softened with sympathy. “How are you feeling about what he said?”

“I don’t know.” I blew out a long breath. There was one thing my mother had forgotten to tell me in her letter: how complicated life got when we grew up. Every year on earth added another layer of twists and drama.

Life was easy when there was only black and white. It was when the line between them blurred that things got murkier.

“I’m conflicted,” I said. “The easy path is to continue hating my father, but I have to…I can’t think about that right now. There’s too much going on. Speaking of which, I have something for you.” I slid a manila envelope across the table. Christian Harper had had it hand delivered by messenger this morning, and I’d been carrying it around all day. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”

Thankfully, Sloane didn’t call me out on my obvious deflection of topic. She opened the envelope and scanned the documents, her eyes widening with each word.

When she finished, her gaze snapped up to mine. “Xavier,” she breathed. “How did you…?”

“I know someone who specializes in information retrieval.” I tapped the envelope. “Pen’s still in the city, she hasn’t had any major health issues, and she’s with a new nanny. Hopefully, that means George and Caroline aren’t planning on shipping her abroad.”

It wasn’t much, but I hoped it was enough to put Sloane’s mind at ease. Sometimes, uncertainty was worse than the pain of any knowledge.

“Hopefully.” Sloane’s eyes gleamed bright with emotion. “Thank you. This was…you didn’t…anyway.” She cleared her throat and slid the papers documenting Pen’s whereabouts and well-being back into their envelope. Pink decorated her cheeks and neck. “You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it. Truly.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I was happy to do it.”

Our gazes lingered, the noise from the restaurant fading beneath the weight of unspoken words.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, throwing shadows beneath her cheekbones and highlighting the fine blond strands framing her face. The glacial-blue pools shielding her eyes cracked, revealing a sliver of vulnerability that grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed.

She was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. I wondered if she knew that.

I wondered if she knew how much she occupied my thoughts and how I counted down the minutes to seeing her again when we were apart.

I wondered if I’d upended her life the way she had mine, to the point where the pieces would no longer fit if she weren’t there, because she wasn’t a pit stop; she was the destination.

The bullet from earlier dug deeper.

I opened my mouth, but Sloane blinked and looked away before I said something I regretted—not because I wouldn’t mean it, but because it would’ve been too much, too fast for her.

Disappointment and relief swirled in equal measure. “Speaking of calls, I got one from Rhea last night,” she said, effectively breaking the moment. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the pink on her cheeks darkening to a dusky rose. “She said a check mysteriously showed up in her mailbox yesterday. The sender kept their identity anonymous, but the money is enough to cover at least one year’s worth of food and living expenses.”

“Really?” I maintained a neutral expression. “That’s pretty lucky. I guess good things do happen to good people.”

“I guess they do.” Sloane paused, then said pointedly, “I mentioned Rhea’s address over Thanksgiving, didn’t I? When I said I would send her money to tide her over while she finds a new job?”

“Did you?” I picked up the menu and scanned it for something to eat. We should order soon; I was starving. “I don’t remember.”

“Hmm.” Sloane’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure you don’t.”

A small grin curled in response to her knowing tone, but neither of us pursued that line of conversation. Instead, we switched to something even more satisfying: revenge.

“Are we still on for Dante and Viv’s party this weekend?” she asked.

She’d told me her plan for Operation PW, and the party was crucial to its execution. It would also give me an opportunity to talk to Dante and hopefully get some answers. Most importantly, I’d get to spend more time with Sloane and her friends—not that I was angling for her friends’ approval or anything. But having them on my side couldn’t hurt, could it?

I smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”