Page 78 of Twisted Fate

“But you got Enzo, and you got a name,” I reason. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

He sighs. He doesn’t read the text exchange. Instead, he adds contacts to my phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Adding Luca, Joe, and Vito’s numbers.” He hands me back the phone without reading the text exchange.

He’s telling me in the clearest way possible that he trusts me, that he knows I didn’t sneak out to meet Enzo, that he knows I’m telling the truth.

I press my lips together and fight the tears that threaten to fall.

“You okay?” he asks.

I swallow. “Not exactly.”

With a nod, he pulls into the street. His hands are relaxed on the wheel, but I can feel the vibrating tension coming off him in waves.

He doesn’t talk, just drives, and after a few minutes, I realize we’re in an unfamiliar part of Vegas. We pull up in front of a low rise building with views of the Las Vegas skyline and the mountains. The building itself is beautiful, pale stucco and warm wood.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Home,” Damian says. His tone doesn’t invite more questions, so I tag along as he unlocks a door, leads me inside and flicks on the lights.

My breath catches. If the condo I’ve been staying in is gorgeous, this place is sublime. I turn a full circle. The kitchen is beautiful with a waterfall island and a million cabinets. The dining room and adjoining living room lead out to a massive terrace with outdoor seating and a dining table and even a barbecue. And everywhere I look I see Damian’s stamp. Elegant with just a hint of glitz.

Home. He said we were going home. Not to the soulless condo that lacked anything personal.

To his home. His real home.

I spin and stare at him, my heart ponding.

His gaze searches my face, then he pulls me into his embrace. I wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

“Do you know where my brother is? Do you know if he’s okay?” I ask.

I feel his sigh.

“He asked me not to tell you, just in case he fails.”

That makes no sense. “Fails?” When Damian makes no reply, I say, “You gave Markus your word that you wouldn’t tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you give him your word that you wouldn’t confirm it if I guess right?”

He’s quiet for a second. “No.”

“Is he in rehab? He didn’t want you to tell me in case he doesn’t get clean? In case he fails?”

Again, he’s quiet, then he says, “Yes.”

Tears sting my eyes. Markus is in rehab.

“Are you paying for his rehab?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I tighten my arms around his waist. Markus is safe. Better than safe. He’s working on getting well. And Damian is making that happen.

---