King of Greed (Kings of Sin, 3)
King of Greed: Chapter 39

I didn’t go home Friday night. I grabbed a few hours of shut-eye in the room I’d set up right after Alessandra left, when I couldn’t stand to sleep in our bed alone, and woke up before sunrise to finish the paperwork. Most of my team crashed in the office as well.

Buying a bank was a huge deal not only for me but for the entire company, and the air teemed with a whirling cocktail of nerves, excitement, and tension. Anything could go wrong before Monday; it was our job to make sure nothing did.

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, I’d already pushed last night’s call to the back of my mind. There were plenty of people who were against the buyout, including the heads of the other regional banks. DBG’s collapse would benefit them in the long run, and none of them were above intimidation. However, I doubted any of them would follow through on the threat of murder.

“We’re almost done.” Dark circles ringed Caroline’s eyes. Behind her, takeout boxes, coffee cups, and stacks of documents littered the conference table. “Contracts will be ready by morning at the latest.”

“Good.” I checked my watch. I had to leave soon to make it to Alessandra’s grand opening on time. “Call me only if it’s an emergency. I don’t want a single text unless someone died or the building is burning down.”

The DBG crisis had bulldozed us during the worst weekend possible, but I would make it work. Like Caroline said, we were in the home stretch, and I trusted my team to hold the fort down until morning. The rest of the night was about Alessandra.

Caroline took my order in stride. “Understood.”

I quickly showered and changed in my office’s en suite bathroom. Two minutes to get downstairs. Thirty minutes to get to the grand opening, depending on how bad traffic was. Timing was tight—I’d stayed longer than I should’ve to nail down an essential clause in the contract—but it was doable.

I rushed into the elevator and jabbed at the button for the lobby.

Forty. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. The elevator passed each floor with excruciating slowness. For the first time, I regretted situating my office on the highest floor of Davenport Capital’s headquarters. It stopped on the thirtieth floor. The doors opened, but there was no one waiting on the other side. Twenty-fifth floor, same thing.

I checked my watch again. My window for arriving on time narrowed by the second. I hoped like hell the traffic gods were on my side, or I was fucked.

I stopped again at the seventeenth floor.

“For fuck’s sake!” I needed to talk to building management about these damn elevators. I reached out to press the close button, but a soft click pulled my attention up.

Black metal glinted inches from my face, its barrel as steady and unwavering as the hand that held it.

Shock waves rippled through my body. No. Perhaps I was delirious from lack of sleep because this made no fucking sense. Except, in a perverse way, it did.

I should’ve known. The coppery taste of betrayal welled in my throat when Roman’s gaze met mine.

“I’m sorry.”

Sincere regret laced his voice as he looked me in the eyes and pulled the trigger.