Page 57 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

The way my heart stammered when she said those words, the way my chest tightened with an unexplainable urge to do whatever the fuck I could to stop that from happening, was terrifying.

Leaning back in my chair, I let this conversation run its course without intervening. After what Uncle Gino had told me last night, I decided to follow his example—stand back and observe from the outside.

Uncle Gino swirled his glass of whiskey. “Well, yes. I’m struggling to grasp the fact that you’re luring William Linscott here under false pretenses.”

My mother laughed. “Please, Gino, stop acting like you’re a goddamn saint.”

“Says the one with the giant crucifix around her neck.”

Mother glared; Uncle Gino glowered. The tension between these two was downright toxic. The look on my mother’s face was that of someone who would gladly stab someone to death—who, in this case, was Uncle Gino.

She got up, shoulders squared, chin held high. “That bastard had my son killed, ultimately causing the death of my husband as well, yet you have the nerve to stand there and act like they are the victims in all this.”

“Aren’t they?” He set his glass down on the table. “Are you not keeping his daughter hostage, blackmailing him, forcing him to trade his life for hers, then plan on double crossing him by killing Tatum anyway?”

“They killed my son and my husband.”

“And you’re about to kill another woman’s daughter and husband. So let me tell you one thing, Loretta. If you think you’re better than them…you’re not.”

“You lowlife piece of shit. I always knew you were the weak link in this family. You would let your nephew’s and your brother’s killers go free, without justice?”

He shook his head. “This is not justice, Loretta.”

“Of course it is,” she bit out. By the way my mother’s eyes flared up like the deepest pits of hell, her hand gripping the crucifix around her neck, I knew I’d allowed this conversation to go on long enough.

I stood from my chair. “That’s enough. Both of you.”

Uncle Gino straightened his jacket then stalked toward the door. “I will no longer be a part of this.” He turned his gaze to me. “My advice for you, Castello, is to not let other people define who you really are.”

“Get out!” my mother yelled, tossing Uncle Gino’s empty glass at him. But he had already closed the door, the glass bursting into pieces, shattering on the floor.

I’d never seen my mother this angry, this infuriated. The way her veins bulged in the side of her neck and her heavy breathing provoked a kind of suspicion inside my head that, if true, would be soul shattering. Was my mother keeping something from me?

“Madre?”

She turned to me.

“Is there something I need to know?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath. “Of course not, Castello. Do not let an old man’s ramblings make you doubt what we have worked months to achieve.”

I cocked my head. “It’s not his ramblings causing me to doubt it.”

Dark eyes that mirrored my own studied me, glowered at me, and my suspicion kept growing.

“Has Mr. Linscott responded yet?” she asked in a lame attempt to change the subject.

I would let it slide, for now.

Sitting back down, I checked the mail, glancing up at my mother every few seconds. She was pacing, pressing the crucifix against her lips.

Just as I had suspected, William Linscott had followed my instructions. There was one email in the inbox sent from an unfamiliar address—as specified—with subject: Final Payment.

I clicked on it and opened the email.

Final payment will be made in forty-eight hours into the specified account as requested.

It would be greatly appreciated if the product of purchase could be delivered in perfect condition…as per our new agreement.

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