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Wickedly Twisted 42
ErosThree men kneel before me.All of them have their hand bound behind their backs. Each is bleeding from multiple wounds. Broken noses, cracked skulls. Lycus has a gun pressed to the first man's head, a tall Greek gentleman in his late fifties, getting heavy with age and wrinkled from a hard life."You all know why you are here." I pace in front of them, watching their reactions. Above us, the recording studio is quiet. Nobody would dare work while beneath them, men died."Yes, Eros. I know why we are here." Zale speaks for the others. The old captain dares raise his chin to look me in the eye.Lycus brings his gun down hard, smacking him in the skull. Zale grunts and hunches forward, groaning.I watch the pathetic display and feel nothing but pity."Why did you do it?" I ask him.He's quiet for a moment. The old Greek man is in considerable pain, and he knows he's about to die, but there's still a dignity to him. I respect that—better to die like a man than to face the end like a
Wickedly Twisted 43
ErosI suck at the last of the whiskey. Exhaustion weighs me down as the sun rises outside of my office window. Birds sing in a nearby tree. I keep hearing the gunshots, the many gunshots from the night before as I went through my family and purged all of the traitors.So many dead. So many wasted lives.It would be easy to blame Cara, but she was only the catalyst, and a weak catalyst at that. This unrest had been simmering for some time now, and she was simply the most convenient excuse.I'll have to find a new captain to take over for Zale. I suspect Alonzo will be a good choice—I spared his life, and he's intensely aware that he owes me his continued existence. I need strong men, loyal men, in positions of power.I smell like alcohol and blood. I need to shower for an eternity to wash away the sins I've committed, but there's no cleansing me.There's a knock at the door. "Come," I say wearily.It opens a crack and Cara steps inside. She's wearing her work outfit, the diner's unifo
Wickedly Twisted 44
CaraDespite his promise to come up with a compromise, three days pass before I finally lose my patience.I try to be a good wife and partner. I want to make this work, even if we're faking it. I have lunch with Helen, walk the grounds with his mother, straighten up the room despite him pleading with me to let the staff do it, and I do it all with a smile.I wear my sneakers and don't complain when he slips into bed late at night, not saying a word.I avoid Sophia and Anissa as best I can though I catch their dirty glares when I pass them in the halls, which is mercifully rare.But enough is enough.I can only take so much.My world is like an afterlife. Not a prison—but a hell. I'm trapped here, stuck drifting from one place to another, like purgatory. Not quite stuck, not quite able to escape.I wake up early, shower while he's still asleep, get myself ready, and confront him as the birds chirp at the sunrise."I'm going to work." I pull the uniform over my head and shoot Phel a tex
Wickedly Twisted 45
CaraThe guards don't try to stop me as I walk down the long driveway, tears streaming down my face.I don't look at the trees, at the bushes, even at the ground. I keep my chin up, my eyes forward, and my hands balled into fists.None of this is mine. None of it ever will be.This was a joke from the beginning. I let myself be seduced by him, by his words, by that stupid nickname, by the way he kissed me and fucked me. I let myself start to think this could work.I was always lying to myself.Eros is what he is—a mafia lord.Maybe not as bad as Christopher, but heartless.He'll never care about me the way I was beginning to care about him.He'll never love me.Once I'm past the guard house and beyond the gate, I let the emotions swell and crash through me. Tears roll down my face. I feel silly as I walk along the early morning sidewalk crying like a child. I have to pause on a bench and bury my face in my hands, my body shuddering. A nice older man asks if I'm okay, and I tell him th
Wickedly Twisted 46
ErosThe gunshots pop like a mountain cracking in half. I'd know the sound of semi-automatic rifle fire anywhere. A horrified chill runs down my spine, and I'm running down the stairs in a shirt and slacks, my cuffs unbuttoned, a gun clutched in my hands, roaring for my soldiers.My heart's racing in my chest. I can barely see straight. I keep thinking about Cara, my Cara, my wife. She ran out of the house and I let her go, thinking she needed space. Why the fuck was I so foolish?Lycus appears at my side, looking white. "Eros," he says."Where was that?" I grab him by the collar and yank him close, growling in his face. "Where is my wife?""It was the front gate," Lycus says, pushing me away. "The guards out front radioed up a second before the gunfire. They have her."My heart stops. My guts twist. I stare at him, not breathing. "They have who?""Cara. She was with the guards when the attack started. Eros—"I storm past him, sprinting out the front door. My vision tunnels. All I can
Wickedly Twisted 47
ErosHelen arrives to take over with Cara. The two of them sit shoulder to shoulder in the living room drinking wine while Real Housewives shout at each other on the flat screen.I find Lycus downstairs. "Situation," I bark at him. I'm on edge, itching to find my enemies, but Cara's words keep playing through my head. This is fake, it's fake, it'll never be more than what it is.No matter what I want. No matter how I feel.Several of my captains and soldiers stand at attention, looking grim."Cameras got the shooting," Lycus reports. "We have the plates and we're running them now.""No need to wait for the results. It was the Italians." I look around and nobody argues. "Get a squad together. Reliable men, good men. I want you to lead them personally."Lycus nods sharply. "Consider it done. What's the target?""Burn Conti's house to the fucking ground."There's a long moment of silence. They stare at me, saying nothing, as the gravity of my orders falls on them.For years, residential
Wickedly Twisted 48
CaraOphelia stares around at the entryway to the Khazan mansion like she can't believe what she's seeing."I know," I say before she has a chance to speak. "It's a lot."She gapes at me. "A lot? It's more than a lot, it's like—this is some Marie Antoinette-level shit. Like pure opulence. Seriously, I'm waiting for a bunch of French peasants to come storming over the gate any minute. Holy wow, are those actual fish?" She walks over to the fountain and laughs. "Those are actual fish. In the floor. Inside the house.""The staff feeds them every day. They have names but I haven't learned them all yet." I point out a big goldfish lurking toward the bottom. "That's Sam.""Fish in the floor. And they have names." She sighs and rubs her face like she's waking up from something. "I didn't believe you, but now I've seen everything.""Come on, let's go out back. It's nice out for once." I take her through the living room where she pauses to stare at the paintings on the wall ("Is this a real Mo
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CaraHelen comes down from the house. I introduce her to Phel, pour her some champagne, and listen to her stories about Eros and the other mafia guys. Most of them are funny, if a little violent, and Phel gets along with her perfectly."You know, Cara, I noticed something recently." Helen gives me a sidelong grin. "You and Eros haven't been talking much."I look down at my hands. "I don't know what you mean.""Come on, there's trouble. Is it stress from—" She stops herself, glancing at Phel. "You know, what happened?""That's not ominous," Phel says. "I know about the diner.""It's that and it's a lot more." I stretch my legs, sighing. "Things are complicated between us. You know, my ex-husband, the whole Italian thing, the divorce, the paperwork—""Paperwork?" Helen raises her eyebrows.I grimace. I shouldn't have said anything about that—we're still trying to keep it a secret. "Just stupid divorce stuff. He's been so busy with his, uh, business that it's like he doesn't live here."
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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
Wickedly Twisted 57
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
Wickedly Twisted 55
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
Wickedly Twisted 54
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
Wickedly Twisted 53
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
Wickedly Twisted 52
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
Wickedly Twisted 50
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
