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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
Wickedly Twisted 49
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."
Wickedly Twisted 50
ErosEvery muscle in my body groans with weariness.Days spent patrolling. Nights spent hunting. Every moment of every waking hour is accounted for. I've thrown myself into the war with the Italians with every ounce of my being, killing as many of their men as I can, ruthlessly taking the fight to their doorstep.I'm breaking myself to make them suffer.And I'm breaking the city too.The heat's on. The cops are out in force, threatening to bring us all down if we can't find a way to stop the violence.I still don't care."You've been single-minded lately, Eros." Mother walks beside me, her hands clasped behind her back. She wears a long black dress, flowing and loose, her hair pulled up and tucked under a broad-brimmed hat. We stroll through the flower garden on the far side of the house, away from where Cara visits with Helen and her friend, Ophelia."Our enemies are closing in, Mother." I glance up at the sky. "I have to admit, I worried about this exact situation. I stressed about
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ErosThat night, I find Cara alone in our room. I pause in the doorway, studying her. She's in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, her hair in a messy bun, a glass of wine held between both hands. She's watching TV and texting with someone—probably Ophelia.I smile to myself. I like that she made a friend, and a decent Greek girl from a friendly family. I hate that Cara's been stuck in here, but I'll admit that life has been easier ever since she gave up fighting me about the diner.Only things have been strained. We don't fight, but we don't talk, either. I crave the taste of her lips against mine, my fingers dimpling her soft skin, her moans hot in my ear. I want her legs wrapped around me and her skin flushing as she comes, hot and sweaty.Most of all, I want her. Purely her."Asteraki mu."She starts and looks over at me. "When did you get there?""A few minutes ago.""Are you creepily watching me?""Not creepily, but yes.""Seems creepy to me." She stretches and finishes her
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Eros"My father was murdered ten years ago." I pace over to the windows, my back turned to her. "When he was killed, it felt like a hole had been ripped into my body, a wound that would never heal. I still feel that wound, even now. It drains me to this day, Cara. I wake up some mornings, thinking I'll speak to my father, go for a walk with him, go fishing in the lake, go out on the boats. But he's gone."I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I thought he was killed by a rival gang. Back then, it was mostly the Irish. I didn't learn the truth until one day, a week before I became lord of this family, I overheard my mother and Aunt Anissa crying with each other. It shocked me, the pain in my mother's voice, and the pain in my aunt's tone, the way they consoled each other. But what really broke me was when my mother said, I can't forgive him, Anissa. I won't ever forgive your husband for what he did to my Michael."Cara's breathing quickens. "Your uncle killed your father?"I nod
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Cara"It's not me he wants, but a wife." I lean against the wall behind the diner, the wall where Hector came and found me over a week ago now.Phel smiles sadly. "Are you sure about that? He could've gotten a wife a long time ago if he really wanted. I mean, he's good looking, has lots of money, and he's a freaking Khazan. I bet there's a line around the block with women that would die to get hitched to all that.""Then he should've chosen one of them." I stare at the engagement ring. It looks so small and lost now that I'm not wearing the matched wedding band. I feel like I'm losing the thread of why we got involved together in the first place. "It wasn't about me, it was just, let's have babies, let's show my family I'm serious, and now I'm afraid we rushed into it."Phel's quiet for a moment. "Did you tell him all that?""I tried to, but he only glared and grunted at me.""That's basically him trying to communicate, but he's stuck in the Stone Age."I try not to laugh, but it's ha
Wickedly Twisted 54
CaraI stand in front of the big mirror at the vanity in my bathroom.Beautiful granite countertops. Gold framing around everything. Luxurious towels, fresh flowers, oil scent infusers. Everything gleaming, everything clean.Everything impersonal, distant, too perfect.I touch my face, drag a finger down my cheek. How did I end up here, in this place?My life was a nightmare with Christopher. This is infinitely better. I don't go to sleep wondering if my husband is going to hurt me each night. I still take birth control, but mostly because I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll get trapped.I don't want to feel like I'm in a cage.Not ever again.But this feels wrong too. I should want this place, want the comfort, the ease. I should be happy that I get to lie around the pool all day drinking champagne, chatting with Helen, walking along the lake, watching the sun rise and the sun set.I can go to work if I want to, but I don't have to.But I want more than to exist. I want to be something.
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CaraI chew on my lip for a second, digesting. I've never heard him talk like this before, and the look on his face suggests it isn't easy. "That was hard for you, wasn't it?""Yes," he admits. "But I've been thinking that I don't want to keep going in this war, keep risking my life without ever telling someone that. Without ever admitting I'm imperfect.""Nobody thinks you're perfect, Eros. Nobody expects you to be, either.""In a family like this, even if everyone knows the lord is flawed, they pretend otherwise. Admitting to flaws is admitting to weakness, and weakness gets you killed when you're standing at the top of a mountain built on blood.""But you trust me enough to say it?"He closes his eyes. "You might be the only person I trust, asteraki mu. I know you're angry with me—""I'm not angry."He opens them and looks over. "Then why have you acted like you don't want to be around me?""I'm trying to be realistic," I say softly, forcing myself to stay calm. I swear, he must be
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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
