Page 2 of Twisted Fate

“Do you know who the hell that was?” he yells, raking his hands through is hair.

“Who?” I snarl at him, rubbing my wrist.

“That was Damian Russo and two of his brothers, you stupid bitch.”

I stare at him for a moment, my heart racing. Then I brazen it out. “I’m supposed to know who Damian Russo is?”

Before Vegas, I was just a normal girl who’d grown up in Buffalo, New York. I’d been an A-student in high school and was in the process of earning my degree in English Lit from a local university when Mom and Dad got hit by a drunk driver on the way back from their regular weekly date-night dinner. The coroner said they died instantly.

For some people, the familiarity of home—the house they grew up in, the park around the corner, the stores and buildings and neighbors—might ease their grief. For me, it only made it worse. Besides, I couldn’t afford the rent on the house. I developed a whole lot of wanderlust. So I started traveling, and eventually I ended up here, in the middle of the Nevada desert. Partly because I like the heat, the energy, the town that never sleeps, but mostly because it’s where my brother Markus ended up and he’s all the family I have left.

For a hot minute, it was a loving reunion. Markus hugged me, fed me, let me stay at his place rent free until I got a job and found a place of my own. He joked that I’d keep him out of trouble. He was so happy to see me. So happy to have me around. Until he wasn’t, because I started asking too many questions and the answers told me my brother was up to his old tricks. Drinking. Using. Gambling. Hanging out with a very wrong crowd.

Between things both Markus and Enzo have said, I know exactly who Damian Russo and his brothers are: Mafia royalty.

“Russo is the wrong man to flirt with.” Enzo glares at me, his face red, a vein throbbing at his temple.

I let out a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t flirting.”

Without warning, he backhands me, leaving my ears ringing and the taste of blood in my mouth. I stumble back and stare at him with shock. “What the fuck—?”

“He’s a coldblooded killer,” Enzo snaps. “You cross him, and you die. No exceptions.”

“Gee, thanks for the friendly warning,” I mutter, my hand pressed to my burning cheek. I cut a glance at the doors and take a step toward them.

“I saw how he was looking at you,” Enzo says, pacing now.

I sidle closer to the doors. How was he looking at me? I don’t ask, not wanting to feed Enzo’s rage.

He stalks toward me, blocking my path and answers as if I did ask. “Like he wanted to fuck you.” Again, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Stay the hell away from him.”

I guess I’m feeling more anger than common sense right now. “Or what?”

The look Enzo gives me is, in a word, soulless. I know I’ve said the wrong thing. And I’m pretty sure Enzo’s already lost every last one of his morals doing who-knew-what for who-knew-who. For all of Vegas’s shiny, glossy exterior, it’s only a cover for the bottomless pool of darkness that lies beneath.

Enzo is part of that darkness.

For each step I back away, he stalks a step closer. My mouth is dry. Fear makes my chest so tight I can barely breathe. My pulse pounds. I slip my right hand back and reach… reach…

Enzo lunges for me. I swing the empty bottle I’d grabbed from the table at his temple and I run.

I tear through the doors and plunge into the crowd, not daring to look back. Then I see him, Damian Russo, standing near the bar, staring right at me. For a second, I have the weird thought that if I run to him, he’ll protect me from Enzo. And that is probably the craziest thing that’s ever crossed my mind.

His dark eyes narrow as he stares at me, anger flickering across his expression. Then the man beside him puts a hand on his shoulder and Damian turns his head.

A glance back reveals Enzo staggering in my wake, fingers pressed to his temple as he searches the crowd. He hasn’t spotted me yet.

I make my getaway, speed walking through the casino to the lobby, through the exit and out into a blast of dry heat, noise and commotion of the Strip. My pulse races as I sprint for the bus, making it just as the doors are closing, no plan in mind other than escape.

I don’t know where I’m going.

Anywhere that isn’t here.

2

Damian

Those legs, those eyes, those lips, those tits. Long, pale gold hair. I like brunettes just fine, but that shade of blonde does something to me.

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