Page 88 of Beautiful Sinners

“If you laid a fucking finger on her—”

Aleksander scoffs. “So damn dramatic. You know I wouldn’t. You counted on it when you told me who she really was.”

And I regret that split-second decision. At the time, I thought I didn’t have a choice.

Aleksander’s leather-soled shoes are silent on the polished hardwood floors as he walks to the middle of the room. With a graceful, almost choreographed motion, he effortlessly sweeps up a men’s tie lying on the coffee table, drawing my attention to the two drinking glasses sitting there. Drinking glasses filled with half-melted ice, fresh condensation perspiring down their sides. How long was Aoife here?

Aleksander quietly observes me as he slips the tie around his neck, letting the ends dangle on either side of his unbuttoned shirt. “In case you’re interested, Aleksei’s ashes were scattered in Maybach Field this morning.”

I experience a fleeting pinch of regret before I lock it down.

“Aleksei was a sociopath.”

Aleksei was unhinged. Violent and unpredictable. A rabid dog who had to be kept on a short leash by his twin brother. I wish Con had killed him and not Aoife. She shouldn’t need to be burdened with his death haunting her conscience.

Veins pop on Aleksander’s forearm when he picks up his drink, his grip crushing the glass until it cracks.

“Show some goddamn respect. He was your brother.”

Hating the reminder that we share anything in common, I reply, “Just because Francesco made the mistake of fucking your mother once upon a time doesn’t make either of you my brothers.”

“Half of my DNA says otherwise.”

Aleksander and I found out about Francesco’s affair with Nina Stepanoff at the same time. It was the night at the gala where Aleksander asked Aoife to dance, and he and I got into a fight. While waiting in a back room for our fathers to come and deal with us, Mom let the familial secret slip just as Dad walked in. She was drunk on wine and doped up on pain meds from her last plastic surgery after finding Dad screwing his new mistress in their bed. He took the whip to both our backs once we got home. I had to sleep on my stomach for almost a month.

I never knew for sure if Aleksander told Aleksei, but I’d always wondered. Knowing the truth wouldn’t have made a difference. Aleksander and I had been enemies for far too long. Too much bad blood existed between us that couldn’t be erased by the knowledge that we shared a father. A man I loathe and wish dead more often than not.

“What do you want, Aleksander?”

“What I’ve always wanted.”

Taking a seat on the couch, he props a leg over a knee, and his fingers tap rhythmically on the side of his lower thigh.Middle, ring, middle, index. Middle, ring, middle, index. He follows that pattern, over and over, as I wait for him to continue. He seems to revel in the anticipation, the slightest hint of joy creeping into his dark, soulless pupils.

“I find it interesting that you haven’t asked about him,” he comments after a beat.

I don’t admit that I tried calling Francesco, several times.

“Probably because I don’t give a fuck,” I reply.

He and Aleksei were lucky that Francesco never claimed them as his children, illegitimate or otherwise. Nikolai Stepanoff may have been a hard, cruel man, but at least he wasn’t an abusive sadist.

When I don’t take the bait, he says, “Francesco and Helena are at the Society compound, alive and well. Patrick is at his estate. What’s left of it.” He grins. “But I doubt Knight cares about that… or his dear, sweet mother.”

I hold back thefuck youI want to hurl at him.

“Cops? Media?” I ask because the last thing any of us need is an investigation into what went down at the Knight Estate.

“Being handled by friends of the Society.”

Meaning that they’re on our payroll.

I’m reluctantly impressed that he was able to control the situation so well, considering he caused half the fuck up.

“You seem to have made new friends. Never thought you’d be besties with the mob. The bomb was a nice touch, by the way. Wasn’t expecting that.”

I say nothing and keep my mouth shut. Let him think whatever he wants.

“And Gabriel?” I inquire.

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