Page 4 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

What incredible privilege.

“It’s been half an hour since I saw what you did to people who don’t,” I say quietly. “I haven’t forgotten yet.”

For the first time since our standoff in Thomas’s office, Achilles meets my eye. His are a warm chocolate brown. They should be comforting, but they just look tired and… empty.

A man in a crisp captain’s uniform comes into the cabin from the cockpit, tipping his hat to Achilles. “Mr. Ashwood, we’re ready for takeoff when you are.”

I look between the two men, confused, but Achilles doesn’t acknowledge me at all. “Thank you, captain. Carry on.” When the captain leaves, he does turn to me, looking bemused. “Buckle yourself in,” he says simply. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”

“Mr. Ashwood?” I blurt, forgetting myself. “Who-”

“Buckle. Your. Seatbelt,” Achilles orders, each word clipped short.

I try to do as he says, my mind spinning. Achilles… Ashwood? Is that his real name? Why pretend to be a Warwick, then? Or is he a Warwick pretending to be someone else? My stomach is plummeting more by the second, my hands shaking almost too hard to buckle the seatbelt over my lap.

If Achilles isn’t Achilles Warwick, then it’s entirely possible thatnoneof what he said on the estate was true. Did I just throw myself into a situation that isn’t anything like what I thought?

I don’t know if Achilles notices how hard I’m shaking or just that I haven’t properly fastened my seatbelt yet, but he sighs sharply. “Bollocks,” he curses to himself, then glares at me as if this is allmyfault. “My name is, in fact, Achilles Ashwood,” he says. “I am in the employ of Fantasia Warwick, and while traveling I tend to use her name to improve my credibility. Satisfied?”

I’m still a hostage, sono, but also yes. It’s then that I notice he hasn’t touched his seatbelt. After a few moments of frosty silence, I feel the plane shudder to life around me. For the first time I think about leaving the ground behind, being thousands of feet in the air-

I shut my eyes tight as my stomach swoops. If I have to keep them closed for the entire flight, then so be it.

“Comfortable, Miss Warwick?”

My head snaps up, even though the name being called isn’t mine. Across the aisle, Achilles is posed like he’s lounging, with his ankle resting on his knee and one arm thrown back over the top of the couch. He’s spreading out to intimidate me, but instead of his beautiful face looking smug or malicious, he still just looks annoyed.

I wonder what could make him happy, if successfully leaving the country with a hostage won’t cut it.

That being said, he didn’t seem happy when he was threatening us with violence either. What an odd attitude for someone who’s clearly his family’s favorite enforcer. So if he doesn’t relish pain and he isn’t interested in having me at his mercy, what else motivates him? I need to know more about him if I want to predict what comes next and get the hell out of it.

The first thing that’s obvious is that this manoozesold money. Or maybe old nobility, considering he’s British. His cream three piece suit with the slit sleeve coat and shining golden buttons- nevermind his polished black and white shoes,his crystal watch, and the designer sunglasses tucked into his breast pocket- is worth more than I’ve ever seen in my life and probably ever will. The shadow of stubble on his narrow jaw is probably trimmed by a servant every morning.

And his tousled brown curls-

Achilles clears his throat loudly. “Miss. Warwick.”

I blink out of my thoughts. Fuck, I was staring for too long. I hope he didn’t think I was studying him too calculatedly. I’m pretending to be a wide-eyed and naive mafia princess here, not a girl who had to raise herself because her good-for-nothing dad was only around when he was mad.

“I-I’m sorry. What was the question?” I ask.

Achilles’s cheek twitches. Maybe he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Did your brother ever make you aware of our attempted correspondence, Miss Warwick? Or did you just learn about all of this today?”

I should pretend ignorance, if only to keep him talking, but yes, I’ve heard the gist of the situation from Raleigh, and a little from Paul. “I might have heard your name before,” I say carefully, “but I don’t really understand what you want.”

“What I want is what Fantasia wants,” Achilles says dismissively. “The Warwicks in the States and the Warwicks in London used to be one operation, and should be again. The way Fantasia sees it, all parties involved in the estrangement are dead, and thus the new generation has a chance to rebuild burnt bridges.”

Estrangement? Dead? I suppress a chill. Should I ask for more details or will it be suspicious that I don’t know more about the history of “my” family? Since Raleigh and Thomas seemed ignorant of these peoples’ existence, maybe it won’t hurt. “To be honest, I… didn’t know there were Warwicks anywhere else.”

Achilles’s eyes narrow at that, but only with frustration, not doubt. “Thomas Warwick Sr. never spoke of his brother to you? Or the row the two of them had?”

Now Thomas Warwick Sr. I know of. He was Thomas’s father, and Morgan Speare’s best friend before the two of them had their own falling out, forming the separate mafia groups that would eventually turn me into a lowlife thug and my father into a corpse. Sr. must not have been that pleasant a person if he managed to ruin his relationship between his best friendandhis own brother. Then again, Morgan Speare wasn’t an upstanding guy either.

“I d-didn’t even know he- my father had a brother,” I confess. And then add, because I know this much about Raleigh’s daddy issues at least, “We didn’t exactly talk much.”

Achilles huffs a sigh. “Thomas Warwick Sr. and his older brother Marcus, who was the head of the Warwicks when we were all one family operating in London, disagreed on a personal matter. When Marcus ignored Thomas Sr.’s counsel, Thomas took his closest allies and left the country. Since then, these two branches of our family have had no contact. Fantasia has recently come into her position as heir, and her priority is to change that.”

I wonder what ‘personal matter’ could be so intense that the family split in two because of it, but that question seems a little too searching to ask just yet. I’m also curious as to how Fantasia became her father’s heir instead of someone as capable as Achilles, but that’s hardly relevant right now. “H-How did you find us?” I ask instead, trying to distract myself from the trembling under my feet. Are we taking off now? Are we already in the air?

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