Page 49 of Twilight Mask

I still want him. That’s the sick part. I can close my eyes and see the Jackal standing in front of me, and even knowing that he’s a member of our former enemy’s mafia family, I still want him to pull my body against his and kiss me. He saw my face, which means he knows who I am, and he still didn’t run away. That has to mean something.

I raise my fist and I make myself knock. Three hard, sharp raps, and I stand there feeling like my world is about to end. How’s he going to react when he finds me here? What’s he going to say? I suddenly don’t know what I want from him, and all the careful thinking and planning I did on the ride over desert me in a flash. Do I kiss him? Do I pretend like I don’t know who he is? Do I want him to pull me into his condo and fuck me senseless on the couch?

I stand back away from the door, thinking I should just turn and run away, when I hear it unlock. And slowly, it opens.

I stare at the man looking back out at me.

Marco is Jackal. There’s no doubt in my mind. That’s Jackal’s body, those are his arms and his hands, that’s his throat, his chest, his legs. Except he’s not wearing the mask. Instead, a man looks back at me, an extremely handsome man with those cool gray-blue eyes I’ve been obsessing over since I first saw them all those days ago on the roof of Cage.

It’s Jackal without the mask, and he’s so much more beautiful in person than I ever could’ve guessed.

“You ruined the game,” he says, in Jackal’s voice, and it nearly breaks my heart how sad he sounds.

“I don’t want to play anymore.”

For a moment, his expression hardens, like he’s fighting back a strong emotion. Then he steps forward and closes the door behind him, trapping me in the hall.

Which isn’t what I expected.

“Why are you here, Laura?”

I didn’t expect that, either. He looks angry and his tone is hard. I didn’t think he’d be excited—but I definitely didn’t imagine he’d be pissed off.

“I wanted to see you,” I say. My voice shakes, making me sound small, and I hate myself for it. I’m so far outside of my comfort zone right now that it’s like my feet are dangling over shark-infested waters.

“You knew how I felt about this. The game—” He stops himself, looking frustrated. “You know who I am now.”

“You’ve known who I am for a while.” I tilt my chin up, trying to infuse some defiance in my tone.

“I wish we could’ve talked about this first.” He rubs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve never seen him make before—because he always has a mask on and can’t touch his head like that.

“This wasn’t easy for me, okay? I just, I asked my brother for the profiles of all the computer specialists in the city, and your name was in the pile. The second I saw your face—” I just knew.

His expression softens. “That’s smart,” he says softly and leans against the wall behind him. His arms cross over his big chest as I shift my weight closer to him. “But now you understand why I wanted to keep my identity a secret.”

“Why? Because you were a Santoro.”

He nods slowly. “That’s right, baby. Because I was a Santoro. Your family wanted to kill me, and I wanted to kill your family.”

He doesn’t seem very sorry about that. Not that I expected him to be. “What’s it matter? The war’s over, isn’t it?”

“For you, maybe.” His lips press together and he tilts his chin up in the air. His throat bobs as he swallows. “Fuck, baby, it’s good to see you like this. My little demon on my doorstep. But it’s a bad idea. I wish?—”

“You wish we could’ve kept playing. I know, I heard you already, but I don’t want the game anymore. I want—” I gesture between us, but I feel this moment unraveling, and I’m terrified he was right. I’m so scared that by destroying the secret, I’ve ruined what we had.

“You want something we can’t really have,” he says and sounds genuinely sad about it. “What would you tell your parents about me? Your brother is the Don of the Famiglia. He’d kill me in a heartbeat if he knew I was anywhere near you.”

“Let me worry about Simon.”

He pushes himself off the wall. I take a step back in surprise as he looms above me. Suddenly, he’s Jackal again, only without the mask. But the mannerisms are the same, the way he holds himself, the expression in his eyes. Only this time I can see his mouth, the way it quirks, and his full lips pressed together in worry. I can see his chin and cheeks, his eyebrows and his ears, all the little details of his face that I missed so desperately when he was nothing but a ceramic animal.

Now he’s a man. Which means he’s more complicated. All that old worry rushes back, the fear, the ancient traumas, and maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s right. We were working when there was a mask between us. Now? What can we be?

“Nothing has changed for me, little demon,” he says very softly, so soft that I have to lean closer, my hands shaking. He reaches out and touches my arm, gently cupping my elbow and drawing me nearer, and I come to him with a racing heart and my lips parted, my tongue licking at my teeth. He smells good, like aftershave and fresh plants. “You’re right. We couldn’t keep going like that forever. I only wish I could’ve gotten more time.”

“Why are you talking like this is over?”

His grip on my arm tightens. I don’t know why he’s reacting like this. Yes, things are complicated, but that doesn’t change what we were building.

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