Page 53 of The Trap

And what Raiden said, before, that I’m the key.

C. Demonio.

Colson Demonio…her devil…her curse…herfate.

She was promised to me.

Always meant to be mine.

TWENTY-THREE

“Do either of you know what happens when you are stopped at a crossroad?”

Great another riddle.

“Well, I’ll tell you, and no Ms. Ramos, this story doesn’t end in choosing the route that will get your pussy licked or teased to oblivion,” the woman continues, crass and blunt as ever. “You see, when you are rendered motionless, faced with two options, neither of which you know the outcome for, a decision must be made. Often that decision is done with the best intentions, but that’s the thing with intentions. They don’t always work out.”

A welcomed pause occurs. No more riddles. No more tidbits of information being thrown at us that we need to decipher. Silence sweeps over us as the masked woman sharpens the document being projected.

“I, Victor Ramos, promise my daughter, Raiden Gabriella Ramos, to Colson Gregor Demonio, in order to form an alliance between the Ramos and Demoniofamilies, in retaliation against the Moretti organization for their allegiance to Alistair Cromwell.”

I mouth the words, allowing the document in front of me to fully register, since it didn’t when it was presented to us in the box from before.

“This arrangement was made with the best of intentions. However, neither of your fathers were aware of the level of corruption they were up against. You see, Colson, the man who raised you as his own, didn’t do it out of love or the kindness of his own heart. He always knew you weren’t his, and he was willing to accept that. But what he was not willing to accept was your mom leaving him for his brother. Well, stepbrother technically but it was still a blow to the old ego and lord knows it didn’t take much to bruise that fuckers fragile ego. Gregor knew all of Alistair’s secrets. How he used to take advantage of women at his elite parties in the basement. How he was a predator who had connections with law enforcement that forever turned a blind eye.”

“Wait a fucking second. Stepbrother?” Colson croaks out in anger, which I know is masking the utter betrayal he must be feeling right now.

“Correct. Your grandfather adopted Gregor when he married your grandmother. Though Gregor never felt or was treated like a Cromwell, so he emancipated himself once he turned eighteen, changing his last name back to Demonio, his biological father’s last name. Knowing that it’d piss off your grandfather since Gregor’s biological father was the one who exposed the Cromwell’s for who they truly are,” the woman reveals in yet another mindfuck.

“Which is?” I ask, figuring I’ll help Colson out a bit since he’s breathing so loud, it sounds like his lungs are going to burst.

“Scum of the earth. See, Pastor Alistair Cromwell, Sr., the man who was so devoted to god that he found a biblical loophole to justify his ritual of taking advantage of those he deemed ‘sinners.’ It’s how Alistair Jr. got the idea to carry on the sick tradition at his basement parties. Gregor was the fallen angel of the family. He saw the evil that lingered within the bloodline he was forced into and the hypocrisy that ensued, and he cast himself out of the Cromwell fortune. Except there was one problem,” the woman pauses, creating an obnoxious cliffhanger.

“Do tell us,” I huff, wanting to get this over with.

“For whatever reason, Alistair Cromwell, the man who raised you, left you in the will. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was a fuck-you to his brother, so you would go on in your life never knowing the truth. And then, here’s where it gets really fun.” Another dramatic pause.

The projector is no longer blank. Grainy footage plays in slow motion as Brett Cromwell hands a wad of cash to a tall man dressed in a hoodie and plain blue jeans. The man’s back is turned as he takes the money and stows it inside his sweatshirt.

Pausing the video, the woman speaks again. “Now, getting back to the audio I played for you both before. Brett over here, accidentally stumbled upon this snag in the family tree, and once he was faced with the reality that he would have to share the money with his bastard brother, well, douchebag over here was not having that. Which is why he hired this man.”

The footage resumes, still faced with the man’s backside. It isn’t until he turns around that I feel the color drain from my face.

It’s Carmine.

“No,” I gasp, slamming my palms to my mouth, nausea rattling me.

“That’s right, Ms. Ramos. Brett Cromwell, in a last-ditch effort to maintain some semblance of his reputation–andfortune–tried to bribe your cousin with an absurd amount of money to have both you and Colson killed. Offering him the alliance that was supposed to be formed between Demonio and Ramos. Except no Demonio or Ramos would be alive to see it.”

A shriek breaks my lips, adding to the tension in the air, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the strident, hoarse roar sounding deep in Colson’s throat. His inked fist pounds against the glass, one violent thrust after the other. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” Colson’s threats appear to do little to Brett, whose swollen and battered face still manages to smile at Colson’s molten rage.

“It’s okay,” the woman motions with her hands for Colson to settle, but he’s wound up more than I’ve ever seen him.

“Carmine cannot be bought,” she states, and I know deep in my heart, she’s right.

“But he took the money that this fucking piece of shit gave him!” Colson pounds again on the glass.

“True, but who wouldn’t take a large lump sum from a desperate jackass they’re planning on taking down anyway? It’s a win-win situation. Get said jackass’s money,” she stops to point at Brett’s bound body. He’s fighting that gag so hard. “And then do what needs to be done next. Exterminate the problem,” she seals her sentiment with a cackle, but it still doesn’t do a damn thing to calm Colson down.

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