Page 2 of One Twisted Christmas

I hug my arms and shake my head, refusing to believe that the people I considered my friends would do this to me. That Nico – the one guy I allowed myself to like – would betray me in this way!

I need to go.

“It’s not a big deal!”

Right, then maybe they wouldn't have kept it a secret if it wasn't a big deal like he claims. I had to hear it from his friends who were complaining about how Nico was going to win the bet tonight, and the worst part is, he would have. If I hadn't learned what I did tonight, I would have let Nico take my virginity. With my father working late tonight, I had everything planned out, and now…

“Let go of me!” I grind, yanking my hand away, and this time he lets me. “You are a jerk, Nico. You and the losers you hang out with. One day you will know what it feels like to have someone treat you like cheap trash!”

I turn around to leave when his words stop me. “I wouldn’t exactly call you cheap. You just cost me a hundred bucks!” he sneers, a voice I once adored grating at my ears and chipping into my heart. “You think you’re that special, huh? Well, you’renot. I will go back in there and I’ll have fifty girls begging to go home with me. You are not special!”

He is already walking away when I turn around and a part of me wants to make him hurt. I lean down and tug at my shoe, ready to fling it at his back when my phone starts ringing before I can. I watch as Nico walks back into the building, without looking back at me once, and the doors close behind him.

I collapse to the ground, letting the ringing die down as I sniff back tears. Nico's words play over in my mind, reminding me what a fool I’ve been for weeks. That boy could have ruined my life tonight. I was going to give him something precious. A part of me that I have held on for that special moment with that special person.

He couldn't even get my name right!

My phone starts ringing again and a frustrated sound slips from my lips as I dig into my purse and search around for the annoying device, intent on flinging it across the pavement and into the flower bush. I hesitate when I see the unfamiliar number flash onto my screen. With a sigh, I slide my finger across the screen to take the call before bringing it to my ear.

“Hello,” a soft feminine voice breaks through the speaker. “Is this Helena Jerkins?”

“Yeah,” I sniff, running the back of my hand over my wet cheeks and sitting up. “This is Helena, who’s this?”

“Hi, we need you at the hospital. St. Peters Memorial Hospital.”

“Wait, what? Why?” I cry out, sitting up as my mind runs a mile an hour. I hold my breath for her answer and when she speaks, whatever shreds of my heart were left after Nico’s betrayal, shatter into a million pieces.

“It’s about your father.”

Chapter One

Fabian

In this vast world, there are countless individuals capable of igniting my temper, but none quite like the man standing before me – my own father. As the inevitable heir to his business, our animosity runs deep, way past our conflicting ideas of how to run the family business.

It’s a curse, really.

Part of a family tradition where it's almost taboo for the eldest child to get along with their father and it seems I was not spared that fate. But how can there be no animosity between us when my old man is stuck on his outdated methods? Like trusting my drunk uncle to oversee a major business deal just because he’s family.

“I will not allow it!”

Perhaps these are not words my father is used to hearing, seeing he is a mob boss and all, but soon, he will be retiring and his mess will be mine to clean up. Even so, I can tell he doesn’t like to be challenged as his eyes, cold and piercing, lock onto mine.

“What do you mean you can’t allow it, boy?”

“I mean just that. I will not allow Russo to close the weapon deal with the Armenians,” I say firmly, meeting his menacing glare head-on. “Uncle Russo is a man with the temperament of a two-year-old. Prone to throwing a tantrum and starting unnecessary fights when things do not go his way. We need someone more diplomatic–”

“Diplomatic!” he sputters. Veins popping in his forehead as he steps up to me. “Russo is family!”

“I will not allow him to mess up this deal.”

“And what do you know, huh? I’ve been running this business since well before you were born.”

And isn’t that the crux of the matter? My father's need to constantly remind me how much better of a leader he was than I will ever be. Ever since I made it clear that I would not resort to violence to solve conflict unless it was the last option, he’s made it his mission to express his disappointment in me. It doesn’t matter to him that I bring in more money and broker beneficial deals with the family. No, I am a huge disappointment because people aren’t scared shitless of us. I bet it’s a huge blow to his ego that people don’t drop to their knees and worship his very feet when they see him. It’s outdated and old-fashioned, a tradition that will die with his leadership.

“We are wasting time talking over this matter, papa. Russo will not be the one to close the deal with the Armenians just because he is family. He is not qualified to! He can tag along, but the second he starts something, I am cutting him off.”

“Not on my watch, you are not!”

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