Page 76 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

One week rolls into another. The Ashwoods who were first approached by me and then by Fantasia have assembled in Wesley Hall. Every night they and Fantasia’s mercs play witness to our mean-spirited debates over who should be the ruler of the Ashwood businesses, and more than once Fantasia suggests that the argument would be moot if I come back into her fold.

The audacity ofthatalmost makes my temper slip.

Still, I’m exhausted but feeling hopeful. Sooner or later, something will give. Either Fantasia’s mercs will turn on her, like rats fleeing a sinking ship, or the Ashwoods who have never truly respected her will put their support behind me for the sake of their own pride and bottom lines. We’ve all buried our heads in the sand for too long, and now that an empire is collapsing, we all need to decide who will get most of the meat off its bones.

If only the beast being put down wasn’t my own sister. But she’s made her choices. And now I’ve finally made mine.

On the twelfth day, my uncle Robert visits me in my cell. His face is grim as he takes in my sorry living quarters and the dimness of the light, not to mention the chill air.

“You really had us doubting you these past few years,” he murmurs through my bars. “You were always the one ready to take bullets for Marcus’s girl. But something’s clearly put the air back under your wings. If you’re ready to move, we’ll move with you.”

My second week as a prisoner in Wesley Hall is coming to a close, but I’m determined that it will be my last. I’ve gotten a few more midnight visits from the Ashwoods staying here, informing me about guard movements and devising plans in bits and pieces. We’re outnumbered by the mercs, but they’re less organized.

In fact, it seems they’re barely organized at all. According to my co conspirators, the men don’t seem to be taking orders from Fantasia anymore. There are several surrounding her at all times, but they seem less like bodyguards and more like… keepers. At one point, she apparently ordered them to leave her alone, but they wouldn’t budge, and she broke down in tears.

The image makes me furious and grim in equal measure. Fantasia brought this entire situation on herself, but I could’ve kept her out of it if I’d stayed.

How long will I hold myself responsible for my sister, even after she’s betrayed me so thoroughly?

Regardless, with luck and a plan, we Ashwoods can make a move against the lot of them. And I’m thinking if we don’t do it soon, something terrible will happen.

That night’s dinner, I’m preparing to be passed notes by Cousin Harper, but when I’m brought to the table, it seems the seating arrangements have been changed up. Has our ruse been discovered? No, all the invited Ashwoods are still here and appear uninjured. Fantasia, too, is in her place at the end of the table. The spot that has been left open is on her right, and while no one is sitting in the chair, the place is clearly set for someone. I raise my eyebrows at Fantasia, who looks more subdued than before.

In fact, she looks like she’s been crying.

“I should’ve known, Achilles,” she says, before I’ve even fully sat. “You were always going to turn your back on me someday. You were always going to find someone you loved more.”

The Ashwoods around the table look awkward, and more than a few of the mercs seem bemused or irritated. This display can’t be a ploy for sympathy, surely. It’s a product of the drink, or her lack of sleep.

“Since my being your brother hasn’t kept you from turning on me, I don’t know why you expect the opposite to be true,” I tell her coolly.

Fantasia shakes her head. “You’re right. You won’t stay here without the proper incentive. I wish you would, just for me. But I think I’ve found what you’d rather have instead.”

She gestures toward the doors behind me. Confusion and dread coalescing in my stomach, I turn in my chair to see the dining room doors open and two mercs come in with a woman between them.

My heart stops hard in my chest. Every muscle in my body jolts with shock.

It’s Emma.

Chapter 42

Emma

No sooner had I entered the dining room than Fantasia ordered her men to drag Achilles and me down to a cell.

Achilles is very unhappy to see me, but he’s whole and alive andhere.

If we weren’t both locked in cages, I’d be happier now than I have been for the last month and a half.

As soon as our jailer leaves us alone in the honest-to-goddungeonsitting below Wesley Hall, Achilles presses himself up against the bars of his cell, across the hall from mine.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he demands, his eyes so wide in the dim light that I can still see the whites of them.

“Being a captive, as usual,” I say smartly, and Achilles’s teeth grind together so hard I think I can hear it. I clear my throat and say with more gravity, “I was in London trying to figure out what happened to you. Before that, I stopped by the safe house because I- because I wanted to talk to you.”

Achilles’s expression tightens. “I… see.”

Does he?

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