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Wickedly Twisted 22
ScarRita's pissed and she doesn't try to hide it.I wasn't trying to get all controlling asshole on her. I was only trying to tease a little bit, draw attention to the fact that I notice what she wears, and I fucking like it.Instead, she took it like I was being a dick.But it's fine. She's right. We don't need to get close, we only need to get through this.Friday comes around. I've been skipping out on work to cram in Operation Know Rita, and now it's time for one final test. "We're going to dinner tonight with my friends," I tell her in the morning. I make her coffee, though she barely glances at me. "You need to meet them before we leave for Gloucester.""Fine," she says, banging around the kitchen, getting herself some cereal. "Anything else?""It's an upscale place. Extremely upscale. Wear something nice."She turns to me. "Oh, good, so you're going to start talking about my clothes again?" She gestures at her sweats and sweatshirt. "You think this is too sexy?"I stare at her
Wickedly Twisted 23
ScarThe Oak Club is the most exclusive invitation-only club on the planet. More exclusive than Bohemian Grove. More exclusive than the nuclear bunkers under the White House. It sits at the end of a long, private driveway, hidden behind high concrete walls lined with crushed glass and dotted by security cameras. Men in dark suits wander the scrubby grounds between the public world and the private oasis beyond. The scrubland gives way to a gorgeous ocean of green grass, shrubs, flowers, and trees, with the club itself in the center of all that gorgeously manicured plant life.The building is a massive marble beauty, like a temple to an ancient god. Huge ornate doors sit at the front surrounded by columns at least a story tall. Luxury vehicles are parked in a small lot off to the side, and a valet meets us as soon as I pull around front."I haven't been here in a while," I murmur to Rita as she takes my arm. We head up the steps and in through the main front door. Security knows me alre
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ScarI watch him go, not sure what to make of that. Carmine's softened over the years, especially since he met Brice. He's been trying to take his family legit, but it's difficult to give up generations of criminal enterprises, especially when they make a ton of money.Still, he's angrier than I would've guessed. Might be that he's worried I'll get him embroiled with the Callahans, but he has to know I'd never do that to him.Maybe it's as simple as he's worried about me. Maybe even worried about Rita.But regardless of how he feels, I know Carmine would never do something that would get me killed, like tell anyone about my situation."He'll get over it," Ford says then grins at me. "Wife, huh? She's hot. Good for you.""Thanks." I squeeze his shoulder, a cold doubt creeping into my guts.Carmine thinks I'm going to get myself killed, and what if he's right? What if I dragged Rita into something I can't handle?But no, we can do this. That's why I told Ford about my spark with Rita—th
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RitaA driver from the Callahan family meets us at the airport. He's a big guy, burly, dark hair. Never takes off his sunglasses. "Let me know if you need anything," he says as I climb into the back seat with Scar. "Shouldn't be too long of a trip. Sit back and relax." He puts up the divider as the town car pulls out."Seatbelt," Scar says. I roll my eyes at him, but buckle up. He leans over toward me a few minutes into the trip, hand on my thigh. I look at him, surprised. His lips brush against my cheek and I instinctively move to push him away, about to ask him what the hell he's doing, but he holds me back. "We're in character, wife," he whispers in my ear. "Don't assume they're not listening. From here on out, even if we're alone, we're not alone."I take a deep breath. Right, we're in enemy territory now.I reach up and stroke my fingers through his thick hair. I smile at the way his gaze sharpens, unable to help the thrill that runs down my spine. I love when I make him look at
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Scar"Scar! Rita!" Orin walks over to us, arms spread. Rita clings close to my arm. Orin's in a polo shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. If I didn't know better, I'd assume he's one of a dozen other rich assholes that spend their summers around here. "Great of you to make it.""Wouldn't have missed it for the world," I say, shaking his hand. I kiss Molly on the cheek. "Lovely to see you. This is my wife, Rita.""Aren't you a pretty thing," Molly says, beaming. Orin's wife is tall, broad, all hips and big brown hair. She grins as she gives Rita a tight hug. "How'd you end up with a man like Scar Scarfoni? You know how we feel about lawyers.""You... love them?" Rita asks, looking panicked.Molly bursts out laughing. "All right, dear, you'll do fine. Come on inside. I'll have Robert bring your bags in. Do you want a drink?""Drink would be lovely," Rita says, casting me a look.The girls disappear, leaving me out front with Orin. His friendly grin narrows into an appraising smile. "Did
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ScarWe find the girls on the back porch drinking champagne. Rita seems at ease, smiling, her hair pulled back. Molly's in a big flowery dress with a hat shoved down over her unruly curls. "You're lucky Orin invited you out here," she says once we're sitting. "He's always such an uptight bastard in the city.""Hey now, easy there," Orin says, but he's grinning affectionately. He kisses his wife on the cheek. "You're right though, as always. Minus the bastard part, you old cougar."The idea that Orin Callahan would let his wife joke about him like that would've been absurd a day ago. But I'm starting to get a sense of how he lives his life. There's the crime lord Orin and the beach going Orin, and those men are very different people."He's more relaxed out here," Molly says, patting her husband on the knee. "I'm always encouraging him to spend more time at the beach house, but he always says his business is in Boston, and that's where he should be.""What's a man without work?" Orin as
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ScarFucking obscene.That was the correct word for Rita in that bikini.It shouldn't get to me like this. It's a bathing suit—women wear them all the time. I've seen thousands of good-looking girls in tiny bikinis in my life, but I've never stared at them like I keep staring at Rita.I can't tear my eyes away.She's a goddamn miracle. Long legs, toned stomach, breasts like heaven, ass like a symphony.I want to shove her bathing suit bottoms aside, slide my fingers between her legs, and taste her moans on my tongue.Instead, I sit on a chair next to Orin while Rita chats with Molly, the two women lounging on towels in the sun."This is the life, my boy," Orin says, grinning. His sons are in the ocean, boogie-boarding. "This is why we do what we do.""Can I ask you something?" I struggle to look at the old gangster instead of at my wife—my fake wife."Please do." He tilts his head back, smiling, sunglasses over his eyes."Does this make the risk worth it?"He lets out a soft grunt, li
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Scar"It's okay," Rita says, apparently oblivious to what's going on. "I kind of want to see if I can catch a wave.""Stay here," I say, gesturing her away. "You ready, big guy?""After you."I march past him down to the waves. Rita stays behind, and when I glance back, she's scowling death at me. I deserve that."Don't mind my brother," Nolan says, shoving a boogie board into my arms. "He's just a prick.""I noticed," I say as Carson approaches."Let's see who can get the biggest one, shall we?" he asks, splashing some water into his hair. "Winner gets to ride Rita. Sorry, I meant, ride with Rita. Don't worry, Scar, I know she's spoken for.""And don't forget it," I say before paddling out to the waves.The water's fucking freezing. My balls turn to ice the moment I'm out toward the break. Carson joins me, sitting up with a smirk."Your wife's very pretty," he calls out. "How'd you bag that one?""Luck and charm," I say. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were getting a litt
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Wickedly Twisted Epilogue
ScarI sit at the bar in the Oak Club and sip a fine whiskey. It's peaty, warm, almost sweet. I hold it up to the light and watch the gold glow."You guys ever think we'd end up like this?" I ask, not looking at my brothers, but knowing they're beside me.Eros says, "Not once. But here we are.""I kind of figured I'd get hitched," Ford admits. "But I never thought I'd actually like her.""Same," Carmine says and laughs. "I figured I'd get stuck with some mafia princess brat.""Strange, how it goes," I say, grinning at them. "Here's to family.""Here's to that," Eros echoes.We toast each other. Four of the five men in the Atlas Organization. "I wish Lanzo were here," Ford says with a sigh."He'll be back," Eros says, then hesitates and shrugs. "Or maybe not. You never know with that guy.""He's going to be really surprised to hear that all four of his friends are married." I turn to look at the nearby table where are wives are sitting. Kat and Brice. Cara and Rita. All four of them be
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ScarOrin Callahan does not sound happy.I'm back in my Dallas office. The new secretary is outside my door—a young man named Brian. Janine said he came highly recommended. We'll see about that."I'll be straight with you, Scarfoni," he says, and I note that I'm not Scar anymore. "I thought we had an understanding. You come to Boston, you work for my family, you get access to power you never dreamed about before. Do I really have to spell it out?""No, sir, you don't," I say, looking at the window. Thinking about my wife at her office right now. My real wife. "Unfortunately, Rita got a job here in Dallas, a job that I can't ask her to leave. I either stay here with her, or we do the long-distance thing, like I mentioned. I decided long distance won't work. I won't be leaving Dallas after all."Orin grunts, his annoyance obvious. "That's not acceptable.""It's the way things are. I wish it worked out differently.""You're making a mistake, Scarfoni. I'll give you another chance—""With
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RitaI'm exhausted when I get back to the apartment.I was right, the first day wasn't too hard. A girl named Easter ("Mom was a hippie, Dad was a Catholic, they compromised.") showed me around, introduced me to the team, and started with my training once I filled out a ton of paperwork for HR. She's small and extremely sweet, but talked really fast, and I found myself struggling to keep up as she threw a ton of information at me all at once.Now I'm feeling like I ran a marathon. I toss my bag down near the door, kick my beautiful shoes off near the entryway, ignore the fact that they gave me blisters, and hurry into the main room.It smells incredible. "What is that?" I ask as Scar welcomes me from the kitchen."Dinner," he says, holding up a bottle. "And champagne." He pops off the cork.I laugh as he pours two glasses. "What's all this for?""A celebration. To your first day.""Oh, yeah? You cooked and cracked open a bottle of bubbly for me?""I didn't cook, I bought some good Ita
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RitaMonday morning. I'm awake way earlier than I need to be—four on the dot—but I can't get back to sleep.It's the first day of a new job.I'm nervous. I'd be crazy if I weren't at least a little bit nervous. The first day should be the easiest though—they won't expect me to do anything serious, not until I'm acclimated with the office, with the basic stuff like email and logging into the computer and all that crap.I'll meet my coworkers, my bosses. I'll smile, make small talk, try to fit in.And for some reason, I'm terrified.I take a shower to calm my nerves. I get out and spend the next half hour second-guessing my outfit choice, parading one work-appropriate blouse around toward different work-appropriate slacks and skirts, trying to get just the right shoes. After a solid hour, I'm too tired to keep messing around and end up on a simple navy-and-gray ensemble. I'll get a feel for what the rest of the office wears and match a little bit better next time, but this should be fin
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ScarGregory Callahan sits across from me in a barbecue restaurant he picked out. The place is almost garish, a gaudy mix of cowboy clichés: big hats, boots, spurs, ropes, steer, bison, more than one stuffed head, a bunch of bleached antlers, and a ton of rustic-looking wood completes the hideous decor."Never been here before," I say, glancing around, trying my best not to make a face."I hear the food's good," Gregory says without smiling. I genuinely can't tell if he's kidding or not. "But we're not here to eat.""We could order something," I say, craning my neck, looking for a waitress, suddenly curious."No, thank you." Gregory sits back in his booth. "This place is neutral ground. Somewhere you or your friends would never visit. It's also ugly enough that I want to spend as little time here as possible. So why don't we get to business?"I sit up straight, holding his gaze. "Whatever you want," I say, gesturing at him. "You called this meeting, Gregory. Why don't you tell me what
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ScarI can't stay in that apartment.Not after trying to kiss her like a fucking idiot.I knew it was wrong—and I tried to do it anyway.I'm glad she pushed me away, even if I wanted to keep going.Even if I wouldn't have stopped.I fly out of Dallas the following morning, early. I leave her a note: Heading to Chicago on business. Sorry about yesterday. Scar. Hopefully she doesn't hold my stupid decisions against me, but then again, what does it matter?I'm leaving. She's staying. It's over—whatever it was."I didn't push her into the job to get rid of her," I say, sitting at a fancy bar. The soft murmur of conversation swirls around us. The lighting's muted, sultry, lots of reds and leather. The sort of place where I'm comfortable.Eros Khazan, another one of my best friends, leans back in his seat, studying me. The big Greek man narrows his eyes, considering. He's massive—easily the biggest guy in the place, maybe the biggest guy in the whole city—and he wears his size like a shield
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RitaThat stupid asshole kisses me.We were having fun. A little harmless flirting, nothing more.But he takes it too far and kisses me.I can't believe it. He says the exact wrong thing, and he still has the nerve to kiss me. I put both hands on his chest and shove him back as hard as I can. I'm small, he's big, but I have the element of surprise—and a little leverage from the counter behind me.He takes a couple steps back, eyes wide."You idiot," I say, shaking my head. All the playfulness is gone now. "There's only right now? Are you insane?"His jaw works. "What do you want from me, Rita? I'm moving to Boston. You're staying here. What else can I do?""I don't know," I say, frustrating finally hitting its peak. I throw up my hands in disgust."You're the one flirting with me, you know.""I'm aware of that. It's frustrating, okay? I like flirting with you. It feels good."God, I'm so beyond confused.Because I want him to kiss me. I want him to want me. I love flirting with him, I
Wickedly Twisted 51
ScarI spend a few days in Boston getting a feel for the city. I meet with all the brothers except for Gregory—no shock there—and have dinner with Orin on the last night. He seems as stressed as he was back in the office, only drunker."Don't ever forget, they're out for blood," he says on the sidewalk outside of the expensive restaurant. He grabs my shoulder, stares into my eye. "They're all out for blood, Scar."I have no clue who he means, but I can imagine it's everyone. In his business, in his position, real paranoia must be the norm, and a shiver runs down my spine trying to picture myself working for this man.I can't stop thinking about the difference between Beach Orin and Office Orin on the flight back to Dallas. I keep seeing him standing there behind the desk surrounded by all the trappings of power—huge windows overlooking the city, oil paintings on the walls, expensive wooden furniture, priceless books and artifacts on the shelves—but looking absolutely diminished.Small
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RitaI'm lonely without Scar.It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. I drift around the apartment, killing time until I start work. He left me a credit card, said I could get myself an entire professional wardrobe, so obviously I take him up on it.Shopping only numbs my feelings for a little while.Then I'm back home with half a dozen bags filled to the brim with designer outfits, empty all over again. I pop a bottle of champagne, pour a glass, and start at the window.Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Scar's visiting the city we were both supposed to move to. I hope he's having a good time with the Callahan boys. I hope he's keeping out of trouble.A stab of jealousy pierces through me, and I have to shove it away.This isn't me. Moping around, feeling sorry for myself. Well, okay, it's a little me, but still, I don't let myself get all soppy and sad over some guy.Scar made his choice. I made mine.So why am I still feeling this way?As I pour myself a second glass, the doorbell rin
