Page 10 of Twisted Hearts

“And this isn’t a decision we have to make today. I just wanted to float it in your direction. We can talk more about it later. Even if ‘later’ means after Una and I get back.”

I nod in a daze. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Everything’s fine, though?”

“Mm-hmm!” I smile wryly. “Say hi to Una for me.”

“Will do. Talk to you soon.”

After I hang up, I stare at the phone for another few seconds.

This is my fate. After all, despite all my schooling, and excellent grades, and early acceptance to a prestigious business school, Iamstill at my core a mafia princess.

Andthisis the fate of mafia princesses: marriage as a bargaining chip. For power. For peace. For allies.

I mean, Neve did it, out of a sense of duty and loyalty to our family, marrying Ares to stop a war between us and the Drakos family. I should do the same.

The difference is, Ares turned out to be Neve’s soulmate. Brooks McKinnley is not, and never will be, that to me.

He’ll always just be the man who hurt me.

Cillian’s words and flashes of the Brooks nightmare are still churning in my head as I step into the restaurant.

“Over here!”

I turn to the voice, quickly shoving all of that somewhere into the recesses of my mind as I smile at Callie and Dahlia and head over to their table.

Dahlia gives me a weak smile as she pushes a plate of baklava my way. Given that the sticky dessert islegendaryat this place, I know it’s a peace offering for ratting me out to Callie.

“Mate, I’m so fucking sorry.”

I could try to stay mad. But honestly, it’s a little impossible to do that when you’re talking about Dahlia Roy. The daughter of a French housekeeper and a Saudi billionaire who abused and impregnated said housekeeper, she’s honestly a force of nature of a human being—fearless, unshakable, andverysmart. She’s also absolutely gorgeous, with her mother’s green eyes and freckles and her father’s dark hair and tan complexion.

She’s also even smaller thanIam, which is saying something, and when that’s combined with that posh little English accent of hers, it’s almost too cute to stand.

All the same, I glare at her as I sit across from them, because I feel I should at least make her squirma little.

“Honestly, I dragged it out of her,” Callie shrugs, sipping her overly milky and, knowing her, probablywaytoo sweet iced coffee.

“Bullshit.”

“No, really—”

“It was me,” Dahlia pouts, ever truthful to a fault. “I was just really worried about you.”

“Well, she’s not in jail,” Callie mutters, eyeing me. “You didn’t get arrested, right? You never texted me back about that.”

I roll my eyes to cover the chill that ripples down my back. “No, I wasn’t arrested.”

Dahlia chews on her lip. “Did you…I mean, the initiation…”

“It was a bust,” I mumble. I haven’t actually heard from Britney today. But given that I never checked in with her last night, or sent her any proof about the egg, I think it’s safe to say she’s used my application to the Crown Society for toilet paper by now.

“Good,” Callie glares at me. “That was seriously fucking stupid. And again, I want us all to appreciate that this ismesaying that.”

I sigh, but then drag my eyes back across the table to Dahlia. “Okay. You’re forgiven.”

She visibly relaxes as I pluck a square of baklava from the plate.

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