The Devil I Hate (Devil's Knights 1)

Nerves shook through me, and I wanted to beg him to stay.

“Roman is outside,” he said to calm me down. “He’ll keep you safe until I return.”

A sudden rush of emotions washed over me, twisting my stomach into knots. I stood on the balls of my feet and threaded my arms around his neck. Marcello seemed confused or even surprised, but he hugged me back.

I kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Marcello. You better come back to me.”

His teeth glided across his bottom lip as he nodded.

He left the room in a hurry, and I rested my hip against the doorframe, looking over at Roman, who wore a severe expression like a mask. I watched as Marcello ran down the hallway. My chest ached when he reached the stairwell and disappeared. After what I had done to Luca, I couldn’t handle anything happening to either of them.

I sat in a chair by the fireplace with my wingtip rested on my knee. All the local members of The Devil’s Knights surrounded me on the couches in my office. Marcello was the only one missing. He was dealing with Alex and her nightmares.

The two of them had grown closer in my absence, and I hated to admit I was a little jealous. Marcello was better with her than me. He wasn’t soft by any means. But with Alex, he was not the cold, calculated killer I knew.

“Where are Arlo and Carl?” Sonny tipped a glass of Irish whiskey to his lips. “I got shit to do.”

It was nine o’clock in the fucking morning. I had a lot of vices, but even I didn’t drink this early.

“Yeah, looks like it,” I shot back. “Busy day on the yacht, Cormac?”

Sonny rolled his eyes and sipped his drink.

What the hell did he know about real responsibilities? The shipping heir spent most days fucking women and drinking. Occasionally, he worked when we needed his help to move containers with illegal shit between ports. Not like he needed the money. None of us did.

“My father is coming.” I pushed up my jacket sleeve and checked my watch. “So is Wellington. They should be here any minute.”

As one of The Founders Society Elders, Carl Wellington could speak on their behalf. He was a high-ranking member of the organization that overlooked the secret societies in the United States. Every group beneath The Founders Society had a specific purpose.

There was a hierarchy.

The Devil’s Knights answered directly to the Founders. Smaller groups like The Serpents worked for us, handling corporate espionage and fixing scandals. The Knights were the bankers of the criminal underworld. Giving loans to unsavory people was the reason we were meeting today.

One of our clients in Albania had defaulted on a fifty million dollar loan, so we took something from him. They tried to steal Alex as retribution, but Marcello was better than them. He had her packed and on a plane before our enemies could plan another attack.

I glanced over at Damian, who had dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Bastian looked equally tired. Kali must have kept them up late again.

Drake Battle leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I tapped the ash of my cigar in the tray. “Rough night, Battle?”

“Yeah.” He sighed as our eyes met. “I was doing coding sprints all night. The board wants to see a working demo of my AI software on Monday.”

“Tell them to fuck off.” I leaned back and blew out a puff of smoke. “It’s your tech.”

He snorted. “I’m not a dick like you. Battle Industries is spending close to a billion dollars to develop the technology.”

I rolled my shoulders against the leather chair. “I just threaten our board if they get out of hand.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “The shit you get away with, Salvatore.” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t work like that at my company. I actually respect my board.”

“Fuck them.” I took another puff of my cigar, and the smoke gathered above his head. “Stop letting them dictate what you do. It’s your company. My last name is on the fucking building. Not theirs. And I remind them every day.”

Drake howled with laughter. “Asshole.”

“Hold secrets over their heads,” Bastian chimed. “That’s what Damian and I do with the Atlantic Airlines board.”

“Because you learned from the master,” Drake quipped with his eyes on me.

We had a saying in Devil’s Creek. Secrets are commodities. I collected secrets as if they were money—because they were more valuable.

My father cleared his throat as he entered the room with Carl Wellington III in tow. Carl looked like a Founder, dressed in a six thousand dollar suit, his air of entitlement surrounding him.

He tipped his head to the group. “Gentleman,” he said as he sat in the chair beside me. “I have no time to waste. So let’s make this fast.”