Page 5 of Twilight Mask

I get up and stretch before I grab my phone. I call Vincenzo’s number and he answers on the first ring. “Got it?” he asks.

“Package landed. I’ll get it open in three hours, give or take.” Meaning: you have three hours to do whatever the fuck you’re doing.

“Works for me. Thanks as always, brother.”

He hangs up. I’m drenched in darkness again. I toss the phone onto my bed and sigh as I stretch my neck and arms. My joints crack and pop, and I remind myself to start taking more walking breaks when I’m working long jobs like this one.

I head over to the jackal mask and pick it up. Valentina did the mold and made the shape, and I did the fine detail work and the painting. It really is a nice mask, and I desperately want an excuse to use it again.

But I can’t do it.

I leave my office and head into my kitchen. Valentina’s leftovers are sitting out on the counter. I pick at what’s left of her Thai food while drinking a glass of scotch. Chicago’s skyline hangs beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows. I drift over to the view, thinking about my little demon again.

She was so fucking perfect. So goddamn gorgeous. And I wish, god, I wish I’d never asked for a clue and set a date to meet again with her instead.

Because the moment she said that she was the artist, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I wasn’t supposed to be at that party. It was an extremely exclusive, invite-only affair, and when I heard about it through my underworld sources, I knew it was a great chance to get close to the Biancos without them realizing it.

It didn’t take long to break into Cage’s computer systems. I found the invite, made myself a forgery, and also snooped through any emails about the event.

One of which included a juicy little detail.

The artist that night was Laura Bianco, the youngest child of the Bianco Famiglia.

And technically my sworn enemy.

I take a long drink and lean my forehead against the cool glass. I squeeze my eyes shut and relive that sequence for the hundredth time. Laura’s mask, her tight dress, her thighs and hips under my hands, the mocking way she sat up, her body tumbling against my chest, her hands on my heart and our masked faces inches apart. It was erotic, incredible, and I can’t get it out of my head.

For most of my life, I was a top member of the Santoro Crime Family, and we were the most hated rivals of the Biancos. But they killed my former boss, and now I’ve been working hard to put the pieces back together. Several other crime families and I are in talks to form an alliance against the powerful Biancos with the goal of one day ripping control of Chicago and the Midwest away from them.

Which means Laura Bianco is a huge mistake.

If any of my associates knew I saw her again—if word leaked that I so much as spoke to her?—

I can’t imagine the fallout.

The alliance I’ve been building would crumble.

My life would be forfeit.

And Valentina would never be safe again.

I make a fist and bang it against the glass. Fuck, why did it have to be her? The strange, reclusive youngest daughter of my enemy? This should be easy—I should hate her—but it’s not, and I don’t.

If anything, I want to play with her again.

“Fuck,” I whisper and tear myself away from the window. I walk into my office, throw my drink down my throat, and create a new email address from behind several dozen impenetrable anonymous layers: [email protected].

Then I type a message. I stare at the words for a long time. The mask sits in the corner of my room, staring at me, and I can feel Laura’s thighs under my fingers, and I can feel her heart hammering against my body.

This is by far the biggest mistake of my life.

But I hit send.

Chapter 3

Laura

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