Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter 23Liana

Kingston Ashford was an asshole.

I should have sliced his throat while he slept, cut off his dick and put it in the blender, then forgot all about him. Instead, here I was, giving him a chance to fucking explain. His unaffected reaction to my gun in his face was enough to set me off all over again. Maybe I needed to try harder.

My lips curled into a smile.

“Name’s Liana, dickwad,” I said, compartmentalizing this pain in my chest. I gazed down at him, at his long limbs hanging out from his mussed sheets, and had to clear my brain of his intoxicating scent. “How did you know Louisa?”

I waited for an answer while debating how I’d end this man’s life. Slow and painful, or quick and clean.

After he left, I cleaned up and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt. There was no fucking way I’d remain under this roof after that performance. The dull roar between my ears made it hard to think, and it took several deep breaths before my pulse settled. He knew my twin, and then… did things to my body that made me feel alive for the first time in as long as I could remember.

Maybe that was his plan from the first time he saw me in the restaurant.

A shudder full of disgust ran down my spine.

My fingers itched to put a bullet into his skull or reach for my knife and plunge it into his neck so he’d bleed out—painfully slow.

“I asked you a question,” I gritted.

“Did you?” The completely unruffled tone of his voice was starting to really grate on me now. Wasn’t he scared? I could end him before he took his next breath, yet his eyes were devoid of emotion.

I shoved my gun into his temple, the cold metal meeting its target. “How did you know Louisa?”

My heart thundered with vengeance in my chest.

There was a beat of silence where he roamed his gaze over me chillingly. The man who I’d shared a brief moment of passion with was gone, not a single trace of him left.

“You should know,” he said. What was this man talking about? We would be here all night at this rate. It suddenly occurred to me that I wouldn’t get anything out of him. I should kill him, yet my hand trembled with the thought.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you,” I snapped.

He remained quiet, watching me in that unnerving way. I took one small step backward, keeping our eyes locked. So I don’t get blood on me, I lied to myself with a sour taste in my mouth. Another step.

“Running already, ice princess?” His eyes glittered with something I couldn’t understand or decipher, and I didn’t like it.

Frustration bubbled inside me—at this man, at myself, at the gaping hole in my chest.

And I snapped.

I pulled the trigger, and the bullet lodged itself into the mahogany headboard, inches from where he was propped up. My heartbeats. His breaths. Animosity and confusion—his and mine—suffocating the air.

I couldn’t stay here.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he gritted, his eyes turning dark as coal.

I smirked, blinking innocently. “Oh, my bad. I was trying to flirt.”

“Your flirting skills leave much to be desired,” he muttered as he shifted, and my finger tightened on the trigger. “Don’t you even think about pulling that trigger again. I’ll come back from the dead and make you regret ever crossing paths with me.”

I scoffed. “Too fucking late.” Then I turned and ran.

Dread settled in the pit of my stomach, each step taking me away from him felt heavy, but I ignored it. On shaky legs that threatened to buckle my knees, I rushed down the busy D.C. street toward my rental car. I’d parked it strategically in an alley not far from where I fled the party mere hours ago.

The sun had long since set and the city flickered with lights while the cold bit at my cheeks. Kingston’s guest room closet provided me with a change of clothes, even a pair of tennis shoes that were my size, but nothing warm, not even a hat or scarf.

I was such an idiot for going to his place. An idiot who let a handsome face lure me into his penthouse.

What was I even thinking?

I came out of the whole ordeal more confused than ever.

The flashing blue lights of a police car caught my eyes, but I ignored it as I rushed down the pavement. Loud laughter and party music pounded through the air, a nightclub nearby I imagined. People in various stages of intoxication passed me by, blissfully unaware of the misdeeds taking place around them.

“Louisa,” called an unfamiliar voice, and my head whipped around, hearing the name that made my heart clench every time. A woman waved, and my brows pinched. I didn’t know her. And, more importantly, I wasn’t Louisa. Just then, a girl flew past me, almost knocking into me, and joined her friends. That familiar loneliness wrapped its invisible hand around my neck and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Twice in the same night. What were the fucking odds?

Maybe it was the universe warning me of dangers that surrounded me. Mother. The cartels. My feeble attempt at saving innocents. But I couldn’t stop. Not while there was a single breath left in my body. The fear in my gut twisted into the same fury that had kept me going since learning of my sister’s death. It was poisonous and vengeful, a fierce determination driving me forward.

Another cold breeze swept through, and I clenched my teeth as a shiver skidded down my spine.

I’d seen too much death. Too much pain. In my past. In my present. I couldn’t bear to think of a future that went on in this way. I’d been trying to make a difference, but instead I felt as if I’d lost myself. In bloodlust. Revenge. Hatred.

I shook my head, chasing all the ghosts away. I wasn’t ready to deal with them. Not now. Not here.

“Hey, babe. You look like you need a man to warm you up tonight.”

I ignored the shrewd comment. Men were pigs, thinking they could spin some lame line and get laid.

I continued on, my tennis shoes silent against the pavement. As I moved through the crowd of people, I had only one thing on my mind: escape. I needed to get to my car and leave this sick city behind. The street finally quieted down, but the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I looked around frantically. I spotted my car, and my step faltered.

I didn’t park my rental all the way back here. It was a basic rule of safety—never put yourself in a position where you might be cornered.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at the dark sky and exhaled. I needed to get back to Russia before my mother noticed I was gone. Christmas was days away and she never missed a holiday—no matter what crisis was unfolding in the world.

I started walking, my steps hasty and my senses vigilant, keeping my eyes on my surroundings. It was as silent as a graveyard.

I was in a full jog when I heard an eerie sound. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was faint, but it might as well have been church bells. My gaze traveled over the car, realization forming in the pit of my stomach. Without wasting a breath, I turned to run back.

But it was too late.

The ground beneath my feet rumbled. Heat seared my spine, and I fell to the ground with plaster and debris falling all around me. My face smashed into the hard pavement, knocking the breath out of me. I gasped, attempting to roll onto my back, when I felt a thud at my temple.

Then it all went black.