Parker moves to wipe the pink frosting from her nose and the girl glances at her bodyguards. They snap to attention and Parker’s hands fall to his sides. He’s smiling, but it’s fixed. Irritable. He doesn’t like being told what to do, but rules are rules, and no one touches January Whitehall. He’s lucky to sit next to her. When the girl graduated from Trinity Grammar, she received her diploma offstage. She’s danced at the New York Ballet Academy since she was nine, but no one’s ever seen her perform. A kid once tried to film her riding a horse at Kensington Stables and Murphy hit him so hard, he got a concussion.

Parker’s spent millions gaining the stepmother’s loyalty and that bitch has made sure no one’s so much as brushed up against the girl’s side. She’s as pure as snow and in four weeks she’ll say ‘I do’ and belong to Parker forever.

Or so he thinks.

Parker’s security team is almost invisible. Two guys in the skyscraper across the road. Two more in a Buick idling by the curb. A sniper on top of St. George’s Episcopal Church. If I shot Parker this morning, I’d have to execute five men in under a minute to get away. Not impossible, but messy. I shift my position, easing the ache in my spine as the girl finishes her cupcake. She sucks leftover frosting from her fingertips and a throb runs down my cock. There’s a body begging for corruption under those ugly clothes. It’d be fun to tear her out of them. She’d cover herself with her hands, but that’d only make it hotter, her tits jiggling as tears ran down her face. I’d feed her Orchard, so she’d be wet and writhing, whatever her prissy little mind told her. I’d pin her to the floor, shove her thighs wide with my knees, and press into her pussy. I’d watch her virgin blood smear up and down my shaft as I fucked her. She’d fight me the whole way, her little fists pounding against my back as I broke her open.

The perfect Whitehall princess, ruined by a dirty lowlife like me.

But that’s not the plan. Whatever Morelli decides to do with the girl, she doesn’t really matter. Parker matters. Making him regret the day his father slimed into his whore of a mother matters.

There’s a chance I’ll fuck January Whitehall, but it’s more likely I’ll kill her. Kill her, cut out her heart, and feed it to Parker. And it won’t be personal. As Parker taught us a long time ago, sometimes you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Chapter One

January Whitehall

It’s my wedding day.

I’ve thought it a hundred times since I woke up, but it still doesn’t feel real. Maybe it never will. Maybe I’ll float from the cathedral to the reception to my new married life without having to do anything at all.