The King of New York {1}

Chapter Five [SAMPLE]

"Great. This is a labyrinth. I am going to get lost in here, and die."

It was eerie being in such a large building with few nearby.

After using the restroom and taking a few more wrong turns, loud bellows of crying and lots of shouting rang out from a nearby lounge room.

Curiosity swelled in my body, and I glanced both ways to make sure no one was around before listening by the open door.

"Carina! Your dress is torn in the back? How did this happen?"

A plethora of choked sobs rang out into the hallway while voices argued back and forth, battling in unapologetic slurs of English and Italian. I stood with my arms crossed, leaning in to hear more.

"Eavesdropping gets you killed in this kind of family."

When I say I felt my soul leave my body, I precisely mean just that. It was as if my soul said, 'Jeez, that's embarrassing, I think I'll just take an early leave' and fled.

When my mind registered who the voice belonged to, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I turned around with a mortified expression.

My voice shook as I profusely apologized, "I- I'm sorry, I just-"

Two men had been behind the boss, while another stood next to him. The handsome man had his arms crossed, and a displeased expression fixed on his features. "What did you hear?"

I fidgeted with my hands, awkwardly swapping glances with each of the men and eventually locking eyes with the boss man himself. "I didn't hear anything bad, just that someone had a ripped dress."

He glanced at me briefly, giving me a last sweep over before brushing past me and walking into the room "Stay here."

As he walked by, for a split second his knuckles grazed my skin, and I began to feel dizzy.

A voice rang, "Oh good, he's here. Carina, tell your brother what happened to your dress."

His men were standing across from me, leaning against the wall and staring me down with intrigued expressions, as if I had been some exotic creature on display.

A flutter of louder sobs roared throughout the hallway as the man attempted to calm everyone down. The shouting died down for a second before he called out, "Rosaria come into the room. Now, please."

The most frustrating thing about his demand wasn't the tone of authority he used, but the way my body seemed to follow his words as if they were law.
I nervously peeked into the room. It was a lavish-looking lounge room and in the center of it was a dazzling yet extremely upset bride.

My gaze did a double-take upon seeing her. She was undeniably his sister and arguably could have been his twin. They both shared the same dark waves in their hair and warm olive skin. Even sitting down, I could tell she was tall like him, and her gaze upon my own was almost equally intimidating.

The man took her hand to help her stand up, shifting her posture to lift her hair and expose the top of her dress. The seam had torn down the center of her back, leaving a small triangle of exposed skin.

The bride, Carina, choked over her shoulder between sharp inhales. "Can you help? My mother can't sew."

I met the man's gaze as he furrowed his brow, keeping eye contact while reassuring his sister, "She's going to help. Right?"

Truthfully, I didn't know if I could help. My specialties lied in pastries, not sewing. However, the look of the bride's brother and his henchmen outside silently told me saying no wasn't an option.