Page 17 of Twisted Fate

“Those books helped to get me through a rough time in my teens. I’m rereading them out of nostalgia. The movies, while good, just aren’t as good as the books.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Luca smirks. He has that smug look that only very handsome, very confident men can pull off. “Don’t worry, I get the attitude. I know this is not an ideal situation for anyone, but it is what it is. Do you want to go out somewhere?”

“With you breathing down my neck,” I say.

“That’s right.”

When Luca gets closer to me, I realize how tall and heavily muscled he is. And while his voice is friendly enough, there’s a menacing quality to his hazel eyes. An underlying warning to toe the line.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to get back to my book.”

“You do that.”

He turns and I notice the weapon at the small of his back. 6 o’clock carry. A Glock 17. It’s a fairly big gun, but he’s a big guy. It’s a reminder that he isn’t harmless, that for all his assertions that I’m a guest, I’m actually a prisoner held here by an armed guard, and that my brother’s life hangs in the balance.

Unsettled, I go back to the bedroom I’ve decided to claim as my own, walking right across the large space to the balcony doors. Out on the balcony, there’s a fantastic—no, breathtaking—view of Vegas. All sparkling lights and humming energy that is hard to explain except to say that this is a town where people come to have fun and sometimes get into trouble.

I haven’t experienced much of the fun yet, but I’ve had more than my share of trouble.

Being alone with my thoughts for too long isn’t a good idea because I start to play Choose Your Own Adventure with how this could go down. If Markus doesn’t manage to pull a million dollars out of his ass in two months, what then? Is he…killed? How does a man like Damian Russo deal with someone who owes him money except with violence?

And what happens to me then?

Anxiety gnaws at me.

No. I won’t let myself spiral like this. I’m a smart girl. I can figure out how to save my own neck and Markus’s too. I just wish I could talk to my brother, try to come up with a plan of action. Luca says he’s not here to keep me from escaping, but of course that’s exactly why he’s here. I’m a prisoner.

And if I do manage to escape, they’ll expect me to go straight to Markus, which will make it easy for me to be returned to my luxurious prison. And if I don’t go find Markus? If I take off on a bus to anywhere? Then my brother is completely on his own, and I doubt Damian will honor the two-month time frame. Markus will be out of time.

I wake up with daylight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. My body is humming, alive, electric. I think I must have been having a really hot dream, one featuring a demon-angel who kissed me like he owned me…

It takes me a moment to remember where I am, but when I do, I’m on my feet so quickly that I get dizzy.

I look around the room. Something’s different. There are several cardboard boxes piled up next to the door. I approach them tentatively and slowly open the one on the top, shocked to see they’re filled with my belongings—clothes, shoes, makeup, toiletries. It looks like the sum total of everything I had in my shitty little apartment. Someone came into this room and put those there and I slept right through it.

Damian Russo’s been to my home. He knows where I live.

And he packed everything I own up and brought it here.

The thought of him—or one of his thugs—riffling through my personal belongings and throwing it all in boxes pisses me off. It takes a minute before I calm down. I suppose I could pitch a fit, make myself a nuisance for every single day I’m stuck here.

But I know that’s not the right plan.

Someone like Damian would expect others to obey his commands without question. I have no power here. No matter how hard I fight, how much I scream or try to talk my way out of this, nothing is going to change until Markus makes good on his debt. If anything, I know it could get even worse. Much worse.

So the plan is to be nice, even if I have to grit my teeth to do it.

I will say “thank you for bringing me my belongings,” instead of “who gives you the fucking right to go to my apartment and touch my shit without permission?”

Men like Damian Russo don’t ask for permission. And they’d never ask for forgiveness.

I spend twenty minutes putting my things away in the closet and drawers. Then I take a long hot shower before picking out fresh clothes to wear. I even take extra time with my hair and make-up, so I’ll look less like a screaming banshee and more like a reasonable, business-minded sister concerned only for her brother’s future wellbeing.

It’s a plan. I never said it’s a great plan, but I’ll improvise where necessary.

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