Page 37 of Twisted Fate

Neither Markus nor Damian lied to me about their relationship, but they haven’t told me the whole truth, either. I get that Damian owes me no explanations, but why didn’t my brother tell me he was working for the Russos? And if Markus was working for the Russos, why was he at the party where I met Enzo, who I’m pretty sure works for the Ivanovs?

Was Markus spying for Damian?

A faint noise makes me jump.

On silent feet, I walk to the living room. The glow of the city lights outlines the silhouettes of the island, the table, the sectional. The door to the other bedroom is still closed.

I need to get Damian’s phone back to the night stand before he realizes it’s gone.

I look down at the screen as a text comes through. It’s from Luca. Two words: tutto finito.

I don’t speak Italian, but I’m guessing that means finished or done.

I wonder if whatever Luca is texting about has anything to do with Damian’s mood when he arrived.

A hand grabs my wrist.

I scream and jerk away on instinct, landing a solid kick to my attacker’s shin.

No. Not an attacker. Damian. His features are cast in light and shadow, accenting the hard line of his jaw, the bruise under his eye. He looks brutal, menacing, the demon-angel I thought him to be the first time I saw him.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, his tone cold as arctic ice.

He reaches for me.

I flinch away. Is this the moment he hits me?

The second the thought forms, I push it away. I don’t pretend that Damian isn’t a monster of some sort, but whatever type of monster he is, my gut tells me he won’t hurt me that way.

He freezes. He saw me flinch. I read it in his expression. But he makes no comment. He only says, “Answer me, Alina. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. No. I wasn’t—”

He pulls the phone from my grasp.

“I wasn’t looking for anything. I was trying to call Markus. I just wanted to talk to him, to make sure he’s okay. I left him a message telling him I’m fine and he shouldn’t worry.”

Damian checks the call log.

“I’m telling the truth,” I say, wondering why I feel hurt that he doesn’t believe me.

“Who else did you call?” he asks. His tone would make icicles shiver.

“No one. You just checked the call log. You can see—”

“Easy enough for you to erase,” he says.

“I didn’t erase anything.”

“You accessed my phone without permission,” he says.

“I…” I swallow. “I just wanted to talk to my brother.”

“Then why didn’t you ask?” His eyes bore into mine.

“Because you would have said no.”

He nods. “So you went behind my back, took my phone, accessed it without my permission and scrolled through my call log, my texts…What exactly were you looking for, Alina?”

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