Page 19 of Twisted Fate

I have a feeling that Damian Russo can find out anything and everything if he sets his mind to it.

I study him, trying to keep a neutral expression on my face. My stomach complains again and I’m sure he can hear it, even though he doesn’t say anything.

He starts to eat, still watching me with narrowed eyes.

Maybe one piece of bacon won’t matter…

I clasp my hands together on my lap and try to think about something else to say.

“Where’s my brother?” I ask.

He takes his time answering. “I don’t know.”

“Is he safe?”

“I don’t know.”

I swallow down a snarky comeback to that infuriating response. Or lack of response.

“Is this why you’re here?” I ask, nodding at his plate of food. “For breakfast?”

“Partially. The food at this restaurant is particularly good.”

My stomach chooses that moment to growl.

“I told you to eat. You refused,” he says, his tone silky, laced with steel. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself, but I am making an exception and telling you again, eat. It is not a request.”

I’m a man who expects to be obeyed.

I almost argue just for the sake of arguing, but fuck it. What am I trying to prove? I grab a plate and load it up.

I bite into the croissant. The buttery, flakey, chocolatey goodness almost makes me cry. He watches me chew and swallow, his eyes on my lips. I feel my cheeks heat. He grins like he won a prize. An open, honest grin that makes my heart twist in my chest. White teeth. Tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. For an instant, he isn’t a deadly criminal, he’s just an insanely hot guy sharing a smile.

“We weren’t formally introduced last night,” he says. “Do you know who I am?”

“I know who you are,” I reply, and leave it at that. Or I try to, anyway.

“Okay, so tell me. Who am I?” His deep voice is casual as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Damian Russo.”

“That’s my name. Yes. But who am I?”

Mafia prince. Criminal. Villain. Killer.

Of course, I don’t say this out loud.

“You’re someone who likes scrambled eggs,” I tell him. “And playing poker. Actually, no. Winning poker.”

“Both are correct.” Damian takes another bite of food, chews thoughtfully, and swallows. “Do you know who my father was?”

Did I imagine his voice catching on the word father?

“I do,” I admit. “Salvatore Russo.”

“And who was he?”

“A man with a lot of power here in Vegas,” I reply carefully. “He owned a lot of property. Businesses. I think he had something to do with construction and waste management.” At least, that’s what the news claims. The news also mentioned money laundering, extortion, and sports betting. There were articles that mentioned his children—Leonardo, Damiano, Dante, Cassio, and Sabina—and the fact that his wife is deceased. But mostly, the news has focused on his murder.

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