Page 10 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

“Where the fuck do you get off saying that to me?” I demand, stopping inches from Fantasia’s face.

She looks like she’s contemplating splashing the rest of her wine in my face, but she doesn’t. “You’re being way too precious about this, Achilles,” she grouses. “People like us have strategic marriages all the time. You’re not really cousins, in case you forgot. And it’s not like it has to mean anything. ”

Of course it won’t mean anything! Itcan’tmean anything, not after-

I want to throw this back in her face. She’s not a widow with a young child. Lethermarry Thomas and unite our families! But the entire reason Raleigh is here is because Thomas is with his wife who’s about to give birth. Raleigh is the Warwick available for marriage here, and I-

“I’m your second in command, Fantasia,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm. “I’m not your political pawn-”

“Sincewhen-”

“Fuck you-”

“Is this about Madeleine?”

The name is a slap in the face, and she wields it like one. I turn away, desperate not to let her see the pain in my eyes. “Of course it’s about Madeleine,” I hiss.

Ofcourseit’s about her. I would be angry to have my life played like a chess piece regardless. But demanding that I marrya stranger when only three years ago the woman I loved was still half of my life?

And then she was just… gone. So suddenly that there are days and nights it still doesn’t feel real.

And how in god’s name will this affect Sidony? She doesn’t even know Raleigh exists, and now Fantasia wants me to foist a mother figure onto her that is only around for political gain?

“Did you even think about what this would do to me, Fantasia? To my daughter?” I ask, turning back to her. I don’t even sound angry anymore, at least to my ears. Just exhausted. Just weak.

Fantasia’s eyes harden. “What about you?!” she shrieks back. “Do you ever think about me? At all?! When you let Piers get away, did you have any idea that it would drive me insane?! I haven’t slept right for a year. I can’t think about anything but him. You did that to me!”

Her obsession with hunting down Piers got old a few weeks into her aggressive manhunts. After a single year of being in charge of the Warwick estate, she’s driven it halfway to bankruptcy by pouring all her resources into finding the man who almost took Wesley Hall out from under her.

That is her own goddamn fault. She could have left well enough alone, but instead she obsessed over it until she had a nervous breakdown that put her in bed for a month. I still have to watch her at times to make sure she eats her meals, like she’s the four year old instead of Sidony.

I used to let her guilt me for this, but I’m not going to, not this time. Yes, I failed to kill Piers when I had him in my sights the night of the massacre. But to say that it’s my fault Fantasia is the way she is now?

No. I’m not listening to that logic anymore.

I shake my head, and Fantasia makes a choking sound when she realizes I’m not sufficiently cowed. “If you had just donewhat you were supposed to and made Thomas sign the goddamn papers, none of this would be necessary!”

“Did you want me to summon him from the fucking aether, Fantasia?!” I shout. God, Sidony doesn’t even run me in circles like my own sister does. “I did what I had to do in the moment. I adapted! Sooner or later you need to figure out how to do that yourself.”

“How dare you!” Fantasia screams. “I’ve been adapting my entire fucking life! I did everything mum ever wanted, and you-”

“That’s not what I’m fucking saying-”

“You couldn’t stand how much more she loved me-”

“Jesus, Fantasia-”

She raises her half full wine glass like she’s going to throw it on the ground at our feet- at herbarefeet. I snatch her wrist. Dark wine splatters all over her dress and my cream suit.

Fantasia cries out and stumbles away, but the damage is done. Needing to destroysomething, I throw the empty glass myself, straight into the roaring fireplace.

My sister is sniffling, what could be the beginnings of another breakdown on the way. I want to keep shouting. My body israttlingwith fury.

But even at her worst, I’ve never been able to hurt my sister when she’s crying. And when I was fifteen and she was two, watching her cry at all was an impossibility. I’d stroke her hair and rock her like a mother at the first sign of tears. I’d coax and coo and do whatever needed to be done to see her gap-toothed smile again.

I’m harder now. When she cries I don’t comfort her, but that’s only because I’ve learned how fake her tears have become.

Nothing I say now will get through to her, and to be honest I’m too angry to fight with logic anymore anyway.

---