Page 70 of Twisted Fate

Because he is exactly what I thought him to be the very first time I saw him: a demon-angel. A monster. A man who loves his family. A killer. A man capable of both good and evil. A man I’m falling in love with. What does that say about me?

Wrapping my arms around myself, I fight the tears that prick my lids.

I feel so confused. So alone.

I stare at my phone. Then I call Markus. It goes to voicemail.

Guess I really didn’t expect anything else.

Leo arrives at the condo the following morning. He knocks. I didn’t expect that.

“May I come in?” he asks when I answer the door. I didn’t expect that either.

His lip is split, his jaw bruised. I glance at his hands. The knuckles are red and raw. Remnants of his fight with Damian yesterday. Or maybe remnants of his interrogation of the mercenary.

“Sure. Come on in.” I pull the door wide and step to the side so he can walk past me. I peer into the foyer. There’s no one else there. Not Luca, not Joe, not Vito.

Not Damian.

I swallow and close the door, then turn to face Leo, oddly unafraid. I’ve realized that what I told Damian yesterday is true. If Leonardo Russo wanted me dead, I’d be dead. He just wanted to scare the shit out of me. Which he did, very efficiently. But he’s here today for a different reason. I just don’t know what it is, yet.

“You, um, want coffee?” I ask.

“Coffee?” His brows rise.

I shrug. “I’m a little uncertain of the etiquette here. You know, how one is supposed to act when one is visited by a man who recently had his hand wrapped around one’s throat, strangling one.”

“Ah.” He gestures toward the sectional. “Shall we?”

I perch on the edge as he settles back comfortably, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, legs spread.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. One more thing I did not expect.

“Go ahead,” I say.

He tips his head looking confused.

“Go ahead and apologize,” I say. “You said you owe me an apology but you actually didn’t offer one.”

One side of his mouth curves a little. “I apologize,” he says.

“For what?” I ask. “I prefer specifics. Is it just a general ‘sorry for being an asshole’ or a specific ‘sorry for almost murdering you’ or does it include ‘sorry for accusing you of being a spy.’” When he says nothing for a long moment, I say, “Have you actually ever apologized to anyone before?”

“Not recently.” He picks an imaginary bit of lint off his sleeve.

“Just dive in,” I suggest. “It’ll hurt less.”

He ignores that and says. “What do you want?”

“Want? I don’t understand.”

“I wronged you on several levels. I owe you for that. You shot a man to save my brother. I owe you for that. You dove into the ocean to try to save me. I owe you for that. You provided my brother with valuable information about Bianchi. I owe you for that. I am not in the habit of owing anything to anyone. So what do you want?”

I don’t even need to think about it. “Forgive my brother’s debt.”

Leo studies me for a moment. “That’s all? Forgive a million dollar debt?”

I can’t tell if he finds the request acceptable or outlandish. So I say nothing. I just wait for him to speak again.

---