King of Greed (Kings of Sin, 3)

“If we die here, I’m blaming youuuu!” the oncoming wave crashed over me and swallowed my last word. The world silenced, and for an endless moment, I hung suspended underwater.

Then I resurfaced, spluttering, to Marcelo’s raucous laughter.

“You’re out of practice, irmã. ” He lay on his board, his face shining with brotherly teasing. “You used to out-surf me.”

“That was years ago.” I dragged in a lungful of sweet air, my body aching from the force of my wipe out. “Manhattan isn’t exactly known for its waves.”

Despite the humiliation of eating it in front of everyone on the beach, my blood buzzed with adrenaline. The water, the sunshine, the salt-laced air…it was good to be home.

Even though Marcelo and I grew up in New York, where our mother had lived for the majority of her modeling career, we’d spent every summer and holiday in Brazil as kids. It was only after I got married that my trips had tapered off to once a year.

Still, I’d always considered Brazil my second home, and I was glad I’d convinced my brother to join me in Buzios for a last minute but long overdue sibling vacation. We’d arrived on Wednesday and spent the past two days eating, swimming, and catching up. New York felt like worlds away.

Marcelo observed me, his amusement fading into something softer.

“You look much happier than when you landed. The vacation has been good to you.”

“Yeah.” I glided my fingers through the water, watching the sunlight sparkle on the surface. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

I didn’t know why I’d felt like I couldn’t visit without Dominic. God knew he went on enough trips without me. Perhaps if I had, I would’ve gained the clarity to speak up sooner.

Would things be different if I’d put my foot down the first time Dominic missed an important date? Maybe. But I couldn’t change the past, so there was no use dwelling on what ifs.

“Perhaps,” Marcelo said. “You sounded sad the last few times we spoke on the phone.”

How I’d sounded hadn’t compared to the sadness I’d felt, but I kept that to myself. “It’s an adjustment period, which is why I’m here. Adjusting.”

It was working. Sort of. I’d only thought about Dominic a dozen times a day since I’d arrived instead of the usual two to three dozen.

Baby steps.

“Hmm.” My brother didn’t look convinced. “And what happens when you go home?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

I hadn’t booked my return flight to New York yet. Luckily, the upcoming holidays meant construction work on the store was slowing down, and I’d put the online shop on hiatus. Isabella had offered to keep an eye on things while I was gone. She’d worked for Floria Designs before she’d gotten published, and she still helped out occasionally when I needed an extra hand. She was one of the few people I trusted to manage the contractors in my absence.

“I don’t want to push, but we have to discuss the elephant in the room sometime,” Marcelo said gently. “When was the last time you talked to Dominic?”

I flinched at the mention of his name. My brother and I had avoided the topic of my divorce like the plague since we’d arrived, but he was right. We had to talk about it, and I guess he’d been waiting for the right time to bring it up—aka a time when we were relaxing in public so I couldn’t lock myself in my room or use our activities as a deflection.

“Last week,” I admitted. “Before I called you. We were at the same restaurant, and he saw me on a…he saw me when I was having dinner with a friend.” I returned Marcelo’s scrutiny with a hesitant look of my own.

“I’m sorry. I know you guys are close.” Marcelo and Dominic had hit it off right away, partly because they’d shared similar struggles with dyslexia growing up and partly because my gregarious brother could charm a rock if he needed to.

I was protective of Marcelo, who’d been bullied relentlessly in his younger years, and though I’d already loved Dominic when they’d met, their easy friendship had made me fall even harder.

“Don’t apologize. It’s your relationship,” Marcelo said, his voice gentling further. “I liked Dom a lot, but we’ll never be as close as you and me. You’re my sister. I’ll always have your back.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Marcy.

It’s still your turn to take out the garbage tonight.”

His laugh made a quick return. “Fine. I should’ve known buttering you up wouldn’t work,” he teased. “But seriously, don’t worry about me. Do what’s good for you, and this…” He swept his arm around the beach. “This is good for you. You jumped straight from taking care of me to your marriage. It’s time you enjoyed life without worrying about others.”

“I didn’t mind taking care of you.”

“I know. But that doesn’t make what I said less true. You skipped your own senior trip to help me study for an English test. You’ve spent your life living for others. Now you can finally live for yourself.”

I watched other beachgoers splash around us while Marcelo’s words replayed in my head.

I’d never thought of it that way, but he had a point. Our mother had spent our childhood working, partying, and dating increasingly rich but dubious men. I was the result of a one-night stand with someone she’d been too drunk to remember; Marcelo was the son of a married Brazilian businessman who’d threatened our mother with bodily harm if she ever told people about their affair.

We were half-siblings, but despite being born only two years apart, I’d acted more like his mother than his sister until we were both adults. I couldn’t rely on our actual mother to parent him properly, so I’d done it myself.

Perhaps that was why I’d slipped so easily into the role of Dominic’s spouse. I was used to being the support instead of the star in my own life.

I was trying to change that with Floria Designs and my divorce, but all big changes took time.

“Enough maudlin stuff.” I swallowed the emotion crowding my throat and nodded at the horizon. “You want to talk about living? Talk about that giant wave that’s coming toward us.”

Marcelo cursed, and soon, all thoughts of Dominic, neglectful mothers, and absent fathers drowned beneath the exhilaration of living. New York would always be there; this moment wouldn’t.

Once we got tired of surfing, we retired to the sand for sunbathing and drinks. We stayed at the beach for another two hours until golden hour painted the sky with oranges and yellows and exhaustion tugged at my eyelids.

“I think it’s time to call it a day.” A yawn split Marcelo’s face. “We’ll repeat tomorrow. Or not. I might just pass out and sleep.”

“No sleeping. We’re on vacation.” I packed up our towels while he took care of our cooler.

“Isn’t the point of vacation to sleep?” he grumbled, sounding like a preteen again.

“Not when you’re with me.”

“Fine.” Marcelo rolled his eyes. “Take the girl out of a relationship, and she’s suddenly a party animal.”

“Hey, I’m rediscovering myself, okay? It’s like Eat Pray Love, but without the pray or the love.” That earned me a loud snort.

I glanced at a couple kissing near the shore on our way back to the villa.

The woman’s red hair blazed like fire against the sunset, and the guy had the lean, muscled build of an athlete or outdoors enthusiast.

I watched as he broke the kiss halfway through, threw his girlfriend over his shoulder, and walked deeper into the ocean with admirable ease.

“Josh, don’t you dare! I’m going to kill you!” she screamed a second before he tossed her into the water. She grabbed him at the last minute and he fell in with her, their laughs and curses echoing across the empty beach.

A wistful smile pushed through the ache in my chest. God, I missed those heady days of young love. I was only thirty-one, but I felt like I’d lived a lifetime in terms of relationships. Jaded, worn out, heartbroken.

What a prize after ten years.

Whoever the couple was, I hoped they’d have a happier ending than I did.

Marcelo and I arrived at our street right as twilight melted into dusk.

Our mother owned a vacation home in Buzios in addition to her apartment in Rio, where she’d moved after retiring from modeling, but she rarely used the villa. I was convinced she’d forgotten it existed.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked. Marcelo and I had subsisted on alcohol and snacks all day, and since my cooking skills were subpar at best, he was in charge of the food while I handled the cleanup.

“Feijoada,” he said, naming a traditional black bean and pork stew. “I’m too tired to come up with anything more creative.”

Since it was a heavy dish, most people ate it for lunch, not dinner, but I would never say no to my brother’s feijoada regardless of the time of day.

“Well, you know I’ll never turn down…” My sentence trailed off when a cab stopped a few feet away from us. A man got out of the backseat and retrieved his suitcase from the trunk.

It was too dark to see his face clearly, but his height and build looked alarmingly familiar.

Stop. It’s not him. You’re in Brazil , for Christ’s sake. Not New York.

Marcelo squinted into the evening. “Is it just me or does that look a lot like Dominic?”

Sweat coated my palms. Breathe. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not every tall—” I interrupted myself when the cab pulled away and its headlights cast the man’s face into sharp relief.

Blue eyes. Chiseled face. A casual expression as he approached us like he hadn’t popped up out of nowhere in freaking Buzios wearing…were those shorts? I hadn’t seen Dominic in anything more casual than a T-shirt and jeans in years, and even that was rare.

“Hi.” He stopped in front of us, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” This couldn’t be happening. I must be hallucinating after getting heatstroke from our beach day. “Are you following me?”

“I’m on vacation,” Dominic said calmly. “I’m long overdue for a break, and since it’s Thanksgiving, I figured I’d head somewhere sunny. New York is pretty miserable this week.”

“Thanksgiving was two days ago.”

“Yes, but it’s still Thanksgiving weekend. ” His smile, though brief, hit me harder than I cared to admit. “It counts.”

I crossed my arms, grateful for any barrier that separated us. “And of all the places in the world, you happened to vacation here?”

A shrug. “I love Brazil.” His simple reply didn’t conceal the intimacy of his meaning.

I love Brazil. I love you.

The unspoken words wrapped around me, holding me captive long enough that Marcelo cleared his throat. Loudly.

I startled and tore my eyes away from Dominic. I’d forgotten my brother was there.

“So, uh, where are you staying?” His gaze darted between me and his ex-brother-in-law.

This time, Dominic’s smile contained a hint of devilishness. “At Villa Luz.”

Villa Luz belonged to a Brazilian socialite who occasionally rented it out to VIP guests when she wasn’t using it. It was famously large, lavish, and decorated to the nines.

It was also located smack dab next to our own villa.