Page 41 of Twisted Fate

Damian

Alina Madsen pisses me the fuck off. Because she won’t get out of my thoughts. Because I’m furious that she took my phone, that I was careless enough to leave it where she could get it. And I’m even more furious that I see her point. She’s my prisoner, collateral for her brother’s debt, no contact with him or anyone in the outside world. It isn’t hard to believe that she’ll do anything to make sure he’s okay.

But what if that’s all an act, a lie? What if she was searching my phone for information?

I can’t make myself believe that, and that’s part of the problem. Where Alina is concerned, my thoughts aren’t rational or orderly. They’re primitive, possessive, protective. And that’s dangerous.

I park in front of the house in Summerlin, taking a moment before I head inside to meet with Leo. He moved back into the family home right after Papa was murdered. It was either move our sister Sabina into his condo with him or move here and let Sabina stay put. Truth is, the condo would have been hell to secure. The place in Summerlin is a fortress, a contemporary house set on almost four acres with metal gates, an electrified fence surrounding the entire compound, and guards patrolling the perimeter.

To the west, sunset turns the clouds pink against the backdrop of the mountains. I walk toward the front door, the path comprised of massive concrete rectangles that appear to float on a bed of water and river rock. I’m outside but might as well be inside because the house is designed to surround the courtyard. I open the door and step inside.

Leo waits in the entryway. He wraps me in a hug. He’s wearing workout gear, and when he steps back, I see that he looks tired.

“You okay?” I ask, knowing that he isn’t. All his life, he was trained to take over when the time came, but we thought that time would be when Papa retired many years from now, maybe even decades.

“All good,” Leo says, and I don’t call him on the obvious untruth.

Cassio ambles over from the kitchen. He looks the most like our mother, blue eyes, thick, wavy blond hair, a straight, slightly broad nose. His lips have a natural upturn at the corners that make him look like he’s always smiling. And most of the time, he is.

“Cass,” I say, thumping his back with a one-armed hug. “You look good.”

“Damian,” he says, returning the hug. “You look broody as fuck. Nice shiner. I’m a little put out that you didn’t invite me to join the party.”

“Anyone seen Dante today?” I ask, glancing between my brothers.

“Had dinner with him last night,” Cassio says.

“Did that include food or just drink?” Leo asks.

“Steaks. Baked potatoes. Salad. And a lot of wine,” Cassio says.

“At least he’s eating,” I say.

We follow Leo to his office at the back of the house. Floor to ceiling windows offer a view of the pool and hot tub and, in the distance, the mountains. The tennis court is at the back of the property on the other side of the pool house which is Sabina’s territory, a two thousand square foot, two-bedroom, two-bathroom home where she can have both privacy and safety.

“You hungry?” Leo asks me.

“No, but I’ll take a beer.”

He fetches three from the beverage fridge on the far wall. We settle in three of the four overstuffed brown leather chairs.

“Tell me,” he says.

So I do. I tell him about Emanuel. I tell him about Markus supplying the information about Emanuel and the fact that I asked him to look into Bianchi.

“Good call,” Leo says.

“Markus has a knack,” Cass says.

Leo tells us about the conversation he had with Mikhail and the reassurance Leo offered that the unfortunate overstep will not happen again.

“I had to stand there and smile and shake his hand when what I really wanted to do was push the point of my knife through his heart,” Leo says. “He set up the hit on Papa. We all know it.” He clenches his jaw. “But instead I had to make nice and send him a case of that Bordeaux he likes.”

“It’s what Papa would have done,” I say. Leo offers a small smile, accepting that as the compliment it’s intended to be.

“Only go to war if there is no other choice,” Cass says, quoting our father.

“Oh, we’ll be going to war,” Leo says. “The second I have proof that bastard set up the hit, we’ll be going to war.” He looks at me. “Any progress on proving that Vlasta’s death wasn’t natural?”

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