The Duke and the DJ (The Rebel Royals 3)

"You can't ask your friends to intervene?"

His mother’s eyes remained downcast a

s she said the words. That’s how Zhi knew it wasn’t her idea. The monster had whispered the notion in her ear, pulling at her strings like a devil sitting beside her on the piano bench.

Zhi knew she meant Alex, the Prince of Cordoba. Or maybe she’d been referring to the king himself. There were only a few years of difference between Zhi and King Leonidas. With Zhi being a constant at Alex’s side, the king and the son of a duke had also forged a bond.

But Zhi shook his head. He couldn't ask his friends to clean up his father's mess. They all were living in the shadows of the men who'd sired them. Leo was far too busy with reigning the country away from economic crisis. Alex was trying to make his own way with a business venture. Carlisle was steering the ship of the barony while his father clutched on to life and the illusion of power.

The writing on the wall was clear since it wasn’t on any of the papers in the duke’s office. Zhi would have to get a job. But doing what? His degree was in music theory. It was a degree he’d never expected to use as his life would be spent running the estate.

He had his mother’s talent, but like her, he had never played professionally. Only in the music room to pound out his feelings or to please her. How was he going to support his mother?

And then there was the staff. He couldn't think of where they'd go. Like Zhi, the three adults that remained from the once sizable workforce had each been there all their lives. Their parents had worked for the dukedom for generations. Zhi had watched young Mathis toddle around these halls. He’d played catch with the boy while his father tended to his duties. The staff was more family to him than his own father.

This was one man's fault. That man was resting comfortably while the rest of them suffered due to his actions. Zhi’s gaze fixed on the ceiling as though he could beam a laser up to the third floor and burn his father into oblivion.

"How is he? Is he lucid today?"

His mother swallowed before answering. "He is calm. Let's keep him that way."

Nian rested a hand on her son’s shoulder. That was his mother's way. She never rocked the boat. She did her duty, what was expected of her. And she never complained.

Well, Zhi had enough of his father’s blood in him to launch a complaint. Ignoring his mother's gentle rebuke, Zhi left the office and took the stairs. Coming up to the highest level of the estate, he approached his father's room.

The room was bare. Not out of spite for the once large and powerful man. It was because even in his weakened form, he could still wreak havoc with anything in reach of his throwing arm.

Diego Ferdinand Constantine Mondego loomed like a shadow in the large bed. He'd once been broad and imposing. Now he was meek and frail. His once tan skin was white and delicate like porcelain. He'd come from Spanish conquistadors. He now looked like something a fisherman's net had snagged.

The man was dying. Slowly, painfully, and dragging the estate and everyone in it with him on his descent into hell. For the last three years, he was no longer mentally capable of performing his ducal duties, and the reins had been handed over to his only son.

The feeble old man opened his eyes, the pupils unfocused for a moment but quickly found Zhi. Zhi held his breath and froze on the threshold. Sometimes, the former duke didn't even recognize his own son. It was worse when he did.

"Oh, it's you," Diego snarled. Though his body had lost might, his voice hadn’t. The low grumble of a lion filled the room. But the man in the bed was no match for a starved alley cat. "What do you want?"

"More solicitors came. Something about a loan in Austria.”

Diego rolled his eyes. Zhi wasn’t sure if it was from his illness or annoyance.

“Because you put the estate up as collateral for a debt you knew you couldn’t pay; they have the right to take the estate unless I can pay off the monies you owe. The problem is, there is no money left and nothing incoming.”

“Insolent brat,” the old man spat. “You do understand that money does, in fact, grow on trees. Your mother’s people make enough of it with their little cleaning service.”

Zhi winced at the insult. His mother’s family had become self-made millionaires with a chain of convenience stores and laundromats throughout Spain. But they had two strikes against them; they were nouveau riche, and they were immigrants. Two things the ancient and noble blood of the Mondegos turned their aquiline noses up at.

But when millions turned to billions, Diego held his nose and wooed the shy and sheltered daughter of those same wealthy immigrants. Nian’s father was suspicious, but it mattered not. His daughter had fallen desperately in love, and in love, she stayed, even after Diego showed his true colors after spending every bit of her inheritance.

“If your mother's family would give me the money they promised—”

"My mother is not a commodity," said Zhi. "You at least could show remorse since you won't and can't take responsibility for all the pain you've caused."

"There’s a simple enough solution to this problem.” His father’s eyes were bright and lucid as they focused on Zhi. “Marry more money."

Zhi tried to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He failed. His father had learned nothing. He would never change.

"Find an ugly, rich heiress and seduce her out of her pocketbook. It's what nobles have been doing for generations. It is your sole job in your capacity as a duke.”

"You disgust me."