Page 31 of Twisted Fate

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Damian,” he says, his eyes wild.

“Only because you got caught,” I say. He glares at me in silence. “You’ve been building a little drug empire for yourself for months, haven’t you Emanuel?”

I hold his gaze. “The first time you betrayed the family, skimmed money from collections, my father forgave you—”

“He had three guys beat the shit out of me,” Emanuel interrupts.

“He forgave you,” I continue as if he hadn’t spoken, my voice low and calm. “The second time you got sticky fingers and betrayed the family, my father forgave you again—”

“He cut off my little finger,” Emanuel cries, jerking against his bonds.

“This is the third time, Emanuel. There is no forgiveness.” I strip off my jacket and hand it to Luca.

I could just kill him, neat and quick, but I need to make an example. My father was boss for decades. He had a reputation and respect. No one accused him of weakness, even when he offered mercy. But Leo hasn’t been boss long enough. If he shows even a whisper of anything that could be construed as weakness, the vultures will come to feed.

What I do here will help cement Leo’s reputation. It will determine how the loyalty of all those under my brother’s command will be maintained.

Emanuel will die here today. But first, he needs to pay in blood for the disrespect and betrayal. I could beat him senseless while he’s tied to the chair. But that isn’t my way. I’ll let him use his fists as I use mine.

At my signal, Frank drags Emanuel to his feet and cuts the rope binding his hands. He’s built low and square, a few inches shorter than me and a hell of a lot wider. His legs are thick, as are his arms. And he knows how to use the fists he clenches at his sides.

He shifts foot to foot, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t beg for mercy. He knows none will be forthcoming. But from the expression on his face, I think he believes he can still walk away. Take me down and walk away. He is a fool.

He circles me slowly. I turn to watch him as he moves, my eyes on his.

With a hiss, he lunges forward, fists swinging, head down. Brute force. No finesse. I deke right, a rush of air passing my left ear as Emanuel swings and misses. I counter with a swift jab to his midsection. He grunts, cursing as he staggers back.

We circle again.

No one speaks. The only sounds are the rasp of our breathing and the steady hum of a fan somewhere in the distance.

He comes at me again, a right hook. I block, his fist glancing off my forearm. I feel the blow echo through the bone. My uppercut catches his jaw. His head jerks back, a spray of blood and saliva arcing through the air. He shakes his head, dazed for an instant. Then, with a roar, he tackles me. We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and fists. Adrenaline courses through me, my heart pounding, my focus a red haze as I punch again and again.

When I’m done, Emanuel lies on the ground moaning. My eye is swelling and my cheek burns. I stagger to my feet, breathing hard, blood and sweat streaming into my eyes.

Luca hands me my weapon.

The adrenaline of the fight still pours through me, making my skin feel tight.

Emanuel pushes up on his feet, one hand on the wall for balance. “Please,” he begs. “Please.”

My gaze meets his and I pull the trigger. One. Twice.

His body jerks. I’m already turning away before he hits the ground.

12

Alina

I’m dozing on the massive couch when a sound wakes me… it might have been the elevator or the front door. The room is dim, only ambient light filtering in from the city beyond the massive windows.

A dark form stalks toward me.

Damian.

Scrambling to a sitting position, I watch as he peels off his jacket. The muscles of his arms stretch the short sleeves of his t-shirt. He tosses the jacket aside then pulls his t-shirt over his head, leaving his torso bare. My breath stops. He’s all lean muscle and tattoos—the solid planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the muscled caps of his shoulders. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous. Or so dangerous.

His eyes glitter as he advances toward me, a predator, his muscled frame radiating raw, masculine power.

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