Page 2 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

“Do you believe that to be Thomas’s stance as well?” I ask.

Iris cocks her head, her black eyes sharp as a hawk’s. The man at her right tenses, just a little, at the threat in my voice. The young woman’s stance widens.

Will Iris speak for her boss without being certain what he’d say, or will she hesitate and cost the lives of people under her protection?

“And if I do?” she asks.

It’s a challenge. She’s calling my bluff from the gates. Now that I’m inside of them and alone, surrounded by enemies, will I still try to plant my flag as an aggressor?

I might be on dangerous ground, but I’ve got something to live for- and someone waiting at home who needs me. I lean forward, a reminder of that quiet fire in my eyes. “Then I suggest you understand what’s at stake,” I say, steady but firm.

I step forward and reach for the stack of papers in my briefcase. Toss them down on the desk in front of Iris. She doesn’t bat an eye, unimpressed.

But because she’s kept her eyes on me, she hasn’t seen what was revealed inside the briefcase, tucked into the foam lining.

The man by Iris’s side pulls a gun, but I pull mine faster. He grunts and staggers back into the filing cabinets with a dull metal clang. Blood blooms on his sleeve.

Thank god for my silencer, or firing a shot in this room would have summoned the entire estate.

“PAUL!”

Iris’s heavy chair tumbles over as she leaps to her feet, but it’s the young woman who’s cried out. Iris herself has to freeze in the middle of pulling her own weapon when I turn my gun on her.

Her black eyes are so wide I can see the whites in them.

Good. Now we might actually get somewhere.

“I don’t care if Thomas is in a meeting, or an active warzone, or a submarine at the bottom of the ocean,” I say coolly. “Get him on the phone, or this man dies first.”

“No!”

There’s a blur of pale skin and blonde hair as the young woman throws herself between Iris’s man and me. Her willowy arms are spread wide like a barricade. My aim doesn’t falter, but that means my barrel is pointed squarely at her forehead.

“Don’t- please-!”

I don’t appreciate dramatics like this. They always slow the entire process down.

“Since you’re so keen to volunteer-” I start, but she raises her voice over mine.

“My name is Raleigh!” she blurts out, while her comrades look on in baffled horror. “I’m Thomas’s sister. If you insist that he sign a contract with you then- use me as collateral for his signature until he gets home.”

“That isnotyour place,” Iris says, her voice low with warning.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, my impatience clipping every word. I look the young woman over, rediscovering her within this new context.

So this is Raleigh then. Mafia women tend to be kept off the grid as a rule, so I’ve never seen a photo of her. Even with all my research on this estate, I could only discover that she exists, and should be about a decade my junior- though she looks even younger than that. Everything else about her remained a mystery.

The woman before me is barely five feet tall, over a foot shorter than me. Her mother’s genes seem to have snuffed out the traditional Warwick huskiness, which happened in Fantasia’s case too. The features of her face are delicate and sharp, like a pixie. Her blonde hair, cut into a short bob around her jaw, is clearly a dye job, with auburn roots just beginningto show. Instead of being dressed in luxury, her simple black sweater and jeans help her blend in with the people around her and accentuate her lacking figure.

And her eyes. They’re huge and grey as the London sky.

It makes sense now that she would be accompanied by Thomas’s closest advisors into this meeting, but not speak herself until this outburst. Frankly, to be a voyeur in this room at all is more than most women would be allowed to do. Fantasia is the rare woman in our world who has managed to seize power over a family and not immediately be punished for it, and she has my unwavering support to thank for that.

Raleigh, though… to put herself directly into the path of danger to buy time for her brother to sign some paperwork is impressive to say the least.

“Please,” Raleigh begs. “Please-” She looks between the man, cradling his bleeding arm, and me. “Thomas really can’t be here. It’s- a family matter that can’t be interrupted.”

“I’ve come a very long way to be given vague excuses,” I warn.

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