Mafia King (Mafia Royals 3.5)

“Never.” Ash’s eyes moved back to Annie as she drunkenly leaned against Serena and laughed. “Damn…be right back.”

“Sure, you won’t.” I took another sip of my scotch and shook my head.

My drink was nearly gone. I should have had Valerian get me another, but I needed to stretch my legs anyway.

I was so damn tired.

Not just physically but emotionally. Mentally. I hated that I was keeping things from Kartini almost as much as I hated that it was nearly impossible not to want her despite her un-canny ability to make me want to pull my hair out and then strangle her.

My lips twitched as I walked up to the bar and set down my glass. I had to admit, it was pretty cool that besides the staff, we were the only guests there.

“What will you have?” The dark-haired woman turned around and grinned.

I glared, then looked down at her name tag. “Jennie?”

She shrugged. “Scotch? Arsenic?”

I gritted my teeth so hard I felt my jaw pop. “The hell are you doing here?”

“We all have our jobs, Tank.” Giana batted her eyelashes. “And I’m here to finish mine.”

“The hell you will.” I jumped to my feet.

She just shrugged. “You have your orders. I have mine.”

“Bullshit. They wouldn’t send both of us.”

“They would if they had their suspicions you would get cold feet…again. Besides, when you look out there, what do you see?”

I glanced over my shoulder.

“I see criminals. Enemies. The problem with you, Tank? You’re so pathetically starved for love that you see friends.”

“Touch any of them, and I’ll slit your throat,” I promised.

She poured me a drink and slid it toward me. “Touch me, and it will be the last time you do it, Tank.”

“I’m calling Thompsons…”

She held out her cell and pointed the screen toward me. “No need. He’s already asked for my ETA. Seems like you’ve been played, little man. One has to wonder why the FBI can’t trust you anymore…then again,”—she looked around the room—“I guess you have your answer.”

Confusion warred with rage. “He said it was my last job.”

Nothing but the pulsing music, and then she grinned. “Exactly.”

Son of a bitch!

They were playing me.

They all were.

But I trusted Thompsons. He was the closest thing I had to a father-figure, a stepdad in his own right. He’d found me. He’d helped me learn how to project my rage at the age of fifteen when I’d had nobody. Both of my parents were killed, and Thompsons knew that I would need to channel the anger I felt at losing them so young. I ended up becoming one of the youngest FBI recruits in the history of the Bureau. Then again, the government needed someone who was close in age to the bosses’ kids—which meant I got to be the lucky volunteer.

I balled my fists and slammed the countertop so hard, my drink toppled over. Then, I stomped over to Valerian. “You drunk?”

“You okay?”

“No.” I gulped. “I have to go talk to Sergio. You got eyes on Kartini?”

He shook his drink. “Club soda. One of us has to stay sober.”

I sighed in relief. “You got any men watching?”

He just grinned. “Around seventeen associates are surrounding the club right now. I want them to have fun.” He sighed. “They deserve it before they’re forced to turn into…” His voice trailed off, and I knew he was referring to himself.

Nearly overnight, he’d gone from a manwhore college student to the youngest boss of the Petrov Family in history.

The weight of his family name was nearly heavier than Ash, Junior, and King’s combined. Then again, the Russians weren’t experiencing much peace at the moment, not with Valerian constantly having to prove himself over and over again.

I didn’t even want to know how many people he’d killed in the past week.

I was sure it was daunting.

I slapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate you.”

He put his hand on my other shoulder and squeezed. “A word of advice?”

I nodded. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Trust no one.”

“Not even you?”

“You’d be dead if you couldn’t trust me,” he said ruthlessly. “One day, you’ll have to decide if you’re willing to burn the world for one person or if your job means so much to you—your past—that you’re willing to fuck up your future. That’s your crown. That’s your baggage. That’s your cross to bear.”

A chill ran down my spine as his eyes locked onto mine in warning.

“Thanks, Valerian.”

“Anytime.” He moved gracefully past me then, and my rage returned full-force as I thought of anyone hurting my family.

Mine.

I had no clue when they’d become mine, when I had started claiming them, when it had turned from a very lucrative job where I was backed into a corner with a gun pointed at my face to justifying crime, murder, and bloodshed.

And all in the name of family—Family.