ALEJANDRO’S poV

The penthouse reeked of stale cigar smoke and the faint, metallic tang of blood from last week's interrogation.

I paced the marble floors like a caged lion, my phone clenched in my fist so tight the screen might crack.

The city sprawled below me through the floor-to-ceiling windows—New York, my kingdom, glittering like a whore dressed in diamonds. But tonight, it mocked me. Everything mocked me.

That bitch Lovia and her lapdog Shane. They thought they could hit my ...