Page 18 of Twisted Kings

“Seriously? The bastard is 55 and ugly as fuck. Not to mention heavily invested in the trafficking of minors. Oh, and in case you’re still not convinced she’s being forced to marry this asshole, Dario’s father says Thea’s 12-year-old sister has been thrown in as a sweetener.”

Now I felt ill. What kind of twisted father would sell his two daughters, one of them a child, like fucking camels?

“Jesus.”

“And that’s why we’re organizing a rescue mission.”

My brain kicked into gear as I assessed the many,manythings that could go wrong.

“OK, but how exactly do you plan to storm a mob boss’s stronghold and rescue the princess, eh? Sounds like a suicide mission to me. Not gonna lie, I’ll miss you if you die in a hail of bullets,” I half-joked. The Russian was annoying as fuck at times, but I liked his particular brand of assholery, and he helped keep Lan in line.

“We have Declan Kelly as a silent partner on our team.” Well, that was an interesting development. I knew of the Kellys. My father had some tenuous connections with Seamus Kelly, which I’d never looked too closely at. I’d decided long ago that his shady business deals were none of my concern. And besides, since the crackdown on organized crime, I figured he and the Kellys were no longer on speaking terms. None of that explained why Declan Kelly was willing to help Thea, though.

Just as I was about to question him further, I heard the low rumble of my father’s voice outside the library.

“Gotta go, Dad’s back,” I hissed before disconnecting the call and shoving the phone behind a First Edition of Wuthering Heights. I’d pick it up later.

When Dad strolled in, he found me sprawled on the sofa with an empty glass in hand. He frowned, but for once avoided castigating me.

“Cassian.”

“Father.” Had our relationship always been this cold?

“Since you’ve behaved yourself this week, I’ve decided you can have your phone back.” He pulled my iPhone from his messenger bag and tossed it at me.

“Thanks,” I said with a forced smile. “I appreciate that.” Great. I probably had ten million DMs to catch up on.

“Dinner will be served in an hour, so please make sure you’re in the drawing room by 7 PM. We have a couple ofspecialguests this evening.”

My bullshit antenna twitched. This didn’t sound like a fun time for me.

“Of course. I’ll be there.”

He glanced down at my pants and unbuttoned shirt. “And tidy yourself up. You look like a homeless urchin.”

“Yes, Dad.” I rolled my eyes, which provoked a glare, but once again, he kept his cool. His temper had been on a hair-trigger all week, yet now he was being Nice Dad? Something was definitely going on with him.

It wasn’t my main concern, however. With all the bombshells from Kyril, I was more worried about Thea. Yes, she’d fucked me over, but maybe I’d overreacted. If what Kyril said was true, she was in deep shit.

There was no chance of me escaping from here until the New Year, but I could at least offer logistical support.

A Russian accent caught my attention as I eased into the drawing room a couple of minutes past 7, my Armani jacket and diamond cuff-links in place.

Dad stood by the fire, talking to a large man with a svelte blond on his arm. The blond turned in my direction and blatantly checked me out while her companion leaned in toward my father. I’d not met either of them before, but her shameless ogling while she was with another man - her husband, maybe? - gave me the ick.

“Ah, Cassian.” My father looked up a few moments later and threw me his trademark smile. The smile that routinely charmed the panties off the wives of visiting dignitaries. “I’d like youto meet our special guests, Vasily Orliov and his lovely wife, Ekaterina.”

My jaw dropped. Why was Kyril’s father and step-mom in our house? Associating with a known Russian mafia boss was dangerous as fuck for a man like my father. It was a massive risk inviting him here.

But now wasn’t the time to ask him, so I pasted on an obligatory smile and sauntered over, snatching a drink from one of the uniformed serving girls on the way.

“Father,” I said, tilting my head in greeting. “Mr. Orliov, Ekaterina, the pleasure is all mine.” I shook Orliov’s hand and then Ekaterina’s. She pressed closer, making it clear she found me attractive. To my surprise, her husband seemed oblivious. Or maybe he didn’t care. It was hard to tell.

“I hear from Kyril you and he are friends,” Orliov rasped in a thick accent. The man wore his bulk well, still thickly muscled despite being in his early 50s. He was dark, like Kyril, with tattoos peeking out from the neck of his black shirt.

An air of menace clung to him, a reminder not to piss the man off. Sure, my father had invited him here, presumably to discuss some shady business deal, but from what I’d gleaned from Kyril over the last year, Vasily Orliov was not a man to mess with. He liked to act the part of a playboy Oligarch in the press, but beneath the ostentatious wealth lay a cunning criminal mind.

I sipped my champagne and then nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

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