King of Revenge (Vows of Blood #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

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I only want a job. A paycheck. A clean slate.

After the mess I’ve had to crawl out of — a cheating, cruel ex-husband, a divorce that strips me bare, and a life I barely escape — I’m done with chaos. I want simple. Predictable. Safe.

Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be standing in the sleek, glass-walled offices of Moretti Global, palms sweating like I’m about to step into the lair of a predator, one hundred and ten floors above the Manhattan skyline.

I shouldn’t feel like this.

While I know he’s going to be handsome, his images online tell me that much…

Okay, the guy is drop-dead gorgeous and far younger than I think he’d be.

I don’t know why I have this image in my mind.

When my cousin, who scores me this interview, tells me about her CEO, I imagine some old, hard-ass New Yorker who doesn’t take shit from anyone.

I’m not expecting this god.

Hells bells…

“Miss Locke?” The receptionist — perfect bun, perfect teeth — gestures me through the double doors that look like they belong on the set of some billionaire drama I shouldn’t be auditioning for. “Mr. Moretti, your eleven o’clock is here.”

My stomach knots. I smooth a hand down my cheap blazer like it’ll hide the fact I buy off clearance racks, inhale deeply, and enter his office. I will not stammer or allow the nerves rioting through my body to ruin my chance at a good position.

I’ve worked too hard to crawl back into some semblance of who I used to be. I’ll not let a few pesky nerves get the better of me.

The office swallows me whole. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Manhattan’s skyline, sunlight spilling across glossy black floors. Everything screams money. Power. Control.

And then there’s him.

Lucien Moretti doesn’t stand when I walk in. He doesn’t need to I suppose. He sits behind a massive black desk, hands steepled beneath a jaw sharp enough to slice through glass. The dark-navy suit stretches perfectly over broad shoulders, black silk tie knotted in precise, lethal perfection.

And his eyes… God, his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like them. Pale gray. Cold. Assessing. The kind of gaze that strips anyone bare without touching them.

“Miss Locke.” His voice is smooth but clipped, like velvet wrapped around a blade. “You’re late.”

I glance at my watch. “I’m on time.”

One dark brow lifts and he doesn’t speak.

My throat dries, but I force myself to stay standing, chin lifted just enough to fake confidence. “Apologies, Mr. Moretti.” I inwardly cringe. Did I just say that? Like some desperado trying to impress him.

I’m such an idiot.

Something flashes in his eyes — amusement? Challenge? Whatever it is, it’s gone as quickly as it came. He gestures to the chair opposite him.

“Sit.”

I do, even though I want to bolt.

He studies my résumé. Every passing second the room feel smaller, tighter. I’m painfully aware of the faint hum of the city far below, the steady click of his pen between his fingers, the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t speak soon. Is this some sort of torture these powerful CEOs inflict on employees — a test to see who’s cut out to work for them, who’ll stay and face whatever challenges they set?

Well, he can place anything before me. I’ve had my fair share of trauma, and I swore I’d never jump or startle again at a raised voice.

I’m done living on the edge, wary, always looking over my shoulder.

I remind myself that my ex-husband, Matteo Romero can’t get to me now.

He’s in jail, locked away and without any clue as to where I am in the world.

Mr. Moretti cannot be so very scary if my cousin works for him.

“You’ve worked for high-profile executives before,” he says finally. “Handled sensitive information?”

“Yes.” My voice wavers on the reply, but I force steel into the rest. “It’s been three years since I held such a position, but I’m discreet, efficient, and reliable.”

Mr. Moretti leans back in his chair, and for some reason, the movement feels dangerous. A shiver passes over my skin, and I want to rub my bare arms, but I don’t. Instead, I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and refuse to give in to the need.

“Good. I don’t tolerate mistakes. My world operates on precision and trust.” He pauses, frowns slightly, like I’ve already done something to aggravate him.

“I have multiple businesses. I own Moretti Shipping, and I own real estate, commercial and residential both in New York and London. There are multiple lines to your work due to my many business interests. This assistant position is not for the faint of heart, Miss Locke.”

I nod because what else can I do? “Understood.”

He studies me for a long, unbearable moment, then finally sets the pen down. “Since you’ve been recommended by Stacy, my head accountant, and I trust her implicitly, you’ll start Monday. Nine a.m.”

Relief floods me, sharp and dizzying. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti. I won’t let you down.” I can’t stop the smile, and as all my trepidation and nerves flee my system, adrenaline floods me so hard my legs start to shake.

I’m halfway to standing — or at least I attempt to — when his voice stops me.

“One more thing, Miss Locke.”

I glance up, wondering what else he wants to discuss. I lower myself back into the chair.

“There are rules in this organization.” His gaze pins me to the spot.

“I don’t tolerate laziness, intraoffice relationships, or people who think they can use me or my company.

Loyalty is key, and you gaining the position of my personal assistant is a favor to Stacy. Don’t disappoint me, Miss Locke.”

I blink. “I…wasn’t planning on—”

“Good,” he interrupts smoothly, final and nonnegotiable. “Keep it that way.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I open my mouth to retort, to insist I wouldn’t dare break any of his rules, but he’s already turned his attention back to his laptop, dismisses me like I don’t exist.

I leave his office with my heart pounding, my mind abuzz, and one thought looping over and over.

Safe, I remind myself. This job will keep me safe.

So why do I get the feeling I just stepped into the most dangerous place I’ve ever been?

Thankfully Stacy waits for me outside Mr. Moretti’s office. “How did it go?” She pulls me toward her workplace, and I’m grateful for her support, her comforting arm around my shoulders. Stacy knows everything about my past, and all the trauma that comes with it.

“Good, I think. I start Monday.” I smile, though my body is in turmoil.

Can I really handle working for such a powerful man?

A man who’ll expect the best with little argument.

I’m not confrontational by nature, but I also won’t tolerate being bullied.

Not anymore. I suffered enough of that during my marriage.

“I’m so glad for you, and although Mr. Moretti is a stern boss, I think you’ll find him good to work for. I never have any issues.”

That’s true. Stacy hasn’t had any problems. But then, my whole family loved and adored my ex-husband too, and their insight into his character was as disastrously wrong as my own.

Surely that isn’t the case here. I’m paranoid.

My choices up until recently are questionable, but that’s regarding my personal life.

“I hope so. I want to do a good job, but it’s been years since I worked for anyone. I’m a little nervous I’m not up to his standard.”

“You worked for one of the most successful bankers in New York before marrying Matteo. You’re intelligent and capable.

Don’t let your past dictate your future.

You’ve got this.” Stacy hugs me quickly before reaching for some paperwork on her desk.

“I have a meeting now, but I’ll see you Monday. Bright and early, remember.”

“I won’t be late.” And if I have to get up at the crack of dawn to make sure of it, I will. Mr. Moretti seems like the kind of man who doesn’t give second chances.