Page 71 of Twisted Fate

“You want nothing for yourself?” he asks, his dark eyes locked on mine as he leans forward so his elbows rest on his splayed knees.

Why do I feel like this is a trap?

“I want you to forgive my brother’s debt.” I pause. “And the interest.”

He laughs, his whole face relaxing, making him look younger, less terrifying. “Smart girl.”

“So that’s it? No more debt?”

He nods and rises. “Done. No more debt.” Then he walks toward the door, leaving me sitting on the couch with my heart pounding and my palms damp.

“Wait,” I say. He glances back at me, his expression unreadable. “What about Damian?”

“What about him?”

Markus’s debt is forgiven. What does that mean for me? Am I still Damian’s prisoner? I don’t know what to say, how to ask.

Maybe I imagine it, but for a second, I think Leo’s expression softens just a little.

“I suggest you ask him,” he says, then walks through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

27

Alina

For three days, I sit in the condo, waiting for Damian to come. He never does.

Luca, Vito, and Joe are nowhere to be seen. I’m completely alone.

I call Markus constantly, but he never answers. I leave dozens of voicemails which he doesn’t return. Leo said the debt is forgiven, but my dumbass brother could have already gotten himself into a brand new mess with a whole different group of shady people. It’s kind of his modus operandi.

I think about Damian all the time. I dream about him, fantasize about him, ache for his touch and his smile and the way he looks at me like I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. I miss the sound of his voice and the sound of his laughter. I miss the way he listens when I speak and cares about my opinions.

I almost call him a thousand times, but I don’t know what to say. Hey, I know you’re a criminal, and I’m okay with that. I know you have few scruples, and I’m okay with that. I watched you kill a man and I know you’ve killed men before and will kill more men in the future, and I’m okay with that.

Am I, though?

That’s the question. And I don’t have an answer.

Finally, on the fourth morning, I call him.

He doesn’t answer, but twenty minutes later, he walks in through the front door.

He looks good. Better than good. Despite the bruise on his cheek and the healing split lip, souvenirs from his fight with his brother, he is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Black suit. White shirt. No tie. The top two buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a V of naked skin and a hint of his tattoos. A platinum watch on his wrist and a ring on his left index finger. A man who knows how to accessorize.

“Asshole,” I say as he comes to stand in front of me. I’m so glad he’s here. I’m so angry he hasn’t reached out to me for three days. I don’t know where I stand. Where we stand. Where I want to stand.

“I brought croissants,” he says, holding out a bag.

I take it from him and ask, “Chocolate?”

“What else?” he asks with a lift of one dark brow.

With a strangled sob, I punch him in the arm.

He cocks his head, studying me more closely. “You’re pissed at me.”

“Furious.”

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