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Wickedly Twisted 69
CaraI stand on the balcony outside of our bedroom and look out at the lake.Light glitters on the waves. The sun's sinking in the sky, leaving it all pinks and purples. It's funny how I've gotten so used to this place already. I'm in cashmere and silk and a pair of fuzzy slippers against the coming fall chill. I've never owned clothes like this before in my life, but Eros keeps insisting that I dress like his wife.Even though our agreement is at an end.It's strange how when I first got here, the idea of dressing in fancy outfits repulsed me. Now though, I'm beginning to love all the different styles and options I have.We haven't discussed what to do now that Christopher is gone and the war is over. I don't need to stay here anymore—nobody will chase me down if I leave the city. Our agreement is complete and our deal is at an end.But every time I work up the courage to say something, the words don't leave my lips, and he hasn't broached the subject.We keep living like this. In li
Wickedly Twisted 70
Cara"Please, Cara, let me take those," Demetrios says, trying to grab the stack of dirty plates from my hands.I sidestep him and head into the kitchen. "Just doing my job, but thank you for using my name," I call back to him.He sighs, grinning, and shakes his head.I drop off the dishes, stick an order ticket in the line cook's window, and head back out front. I refill a couple mugs and stand for a moment, surveying the diner.It's half filled with Greek soldiers and half filled with locals. The place has been bustling lately. I think it has something to do with Eros—somehow, word got out that his wife spends her time in this place, and everyone's coming by to try to curry favor with the lord's woman.It's kind of nice. But mostly annoying.Toward the back, Alonzo's sitting alone, reading the paper. He's still my guard, though I don't need him as much these days. Eros purged the last of the stubborn captains from the family over the winter, and now that spring is here again, things
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CaraDimitra leans forward across the table, smiling happily. Helen, Lycus, and Eros are all listening too. "He said what?" Dimitra asks."Seriously, Old Harry said he was open for business. You should've seen Ophelia's face. She called him an old pervert and everyone went nuts. Those geezers made such a ruckus, it was hilarious." I beam at my mother-in-law as she covers her mouth and laughs.She's still in all black, but these days there are splashes of color, like she's beginning to thaw from a long freeze. Tonight, a pink scarf is wrapped around her neck.When I first met Dimitra, In ever would've told her a dirty story like what happened back at the diner. But the more I've gotten to know her, the more I realize she appreciates humor, even the dirty kind."I like that girl," Dimitra says. "She needs to come around more often.""Please, Mother, don't encourage her," Eros says with a sigh. "I think Phel is going to drive me insane.""You just can't handle her teasing, brother deares
Wickedly Twisted Wickedly Suited
N/B: This is a different book. A standalone in the Wickedly universe.It's been months since Freya Adams died.Everyone thinks it's an accident, but Allison Adams knows better. Freya was her sister, and they were close. So, so close.When the Adams family tries to get Allison to marry Paul Debarcio in Freya's place, Allison is scared and tries to escape. Paul killed Freya, and he would kill her too, because she knows too much about his crimes.Before Allison gets a chance to escape successfully, a special guest catches her.Gregory Callahan. The most dangerous man Portland has ever produced. Even more dangerous than Paul.Gregory is handsome, rich, and connected to dark webs of money.And he's more than willing to help Allison get revenge on Paul for the death of her sister.If she becomes his bride.--------One.AllisonI'm about to marry my sister's husband.Worst of all, she'd hate this wedding.It's drab, serious, stuffy. None of it was my choice—nobody asked my opinion on anythi
Wickedly Twisted 2
Allison"You're late." Paul's voice is a low growl. He's an American, no hint of a Russian accent, though I've heard his father barely spoke any English. Only the old tongue. "Everyone is waiting.""They'll wait as long as it takes, won't they? You're the great Russian Lion, after all."Is that the hint of a smile? No, of course not, Paul Debarcio doesn't smile. He only stares. "I want you downstairs. I want you walking down that aisle. No more delay.""Are you going to drag me yourself? I bet the guests would love that. Why don't we put on a show for them?"He takes a step forward. My hands come up to my throat involuntarily, like I'm protecting myself. His voice drops lower. "Don't test me, Allison. Don't be like your sister."I open my mouth. I can't find any words. Horror rings through me, crystal clear like a frozen waterfall. I hate this man, hate him with every inch of my body, and I would do anything to kill him with my bare hands if I could.But he's a hulking brute.And he'l
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AllisonEvery step feels like a thunderclap. Even barefoot, my heels discarded at the far end of the hall, it's like each step is loud enough to wake the dead.I'm shocked Paul can't hear my heart racing. It's pounding in my ear, painfully loud and fast.I reach a staircase and listen. The sounds of the wedding party murmur up toward me, but they're distant. I hear the clattering of dishes, a few shouts, a stressed conversation in Spanish.With a deep breath, I take the stairs, going as fast as I dare.It leads me into a back hallway. Straight ahead is a kitchen. Men and women dart around in black and white jackets, ferrying appetizer plates, cleaning glasses, ignoring everything but their tasks. To the left are a pair of doors, and beyond them is the party itself. I spot guests mingling nearby, older people I don't recognize.To my left is another hall.I hurry away from the party and the kitchen. The sounds recede when I turn the corner. Ahead, there's a heavy-looking door with a pu
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AllisonOther guests mill about.I recognize some of them. Papa's cousin Vladimir. A business partner that worked with Papa on one of his earliest dispensary projects. A congressman I've seen on TV a few times. Criminals, gangsters, worse. Gregory leads me through the crowd, smiling and nodding, greeting people that stop to say hello. I do my best to smile through it, but inwardly I'm screaming."Shouldn't you be inside?" an older woman asks me. She's wearing so much jewelry, I'm honestly shocked she can stand under the weight. "Dear, weren't we told this was going to start soon?""Soon, Madame Pomfrey," Gregory says soothingly and pulls me on.We angle toward a bar. It's set up on the back patio. Music's playing, soft strings, background noise to the conversations. "Where are we going?" I hiss at him. "If Paul sees me—""You're with me now." Gregory glances down. "You'll be fine."I let out a startled, disbelieving laugh. What the hell is with this guy? That sort of confidence is mov
Wickedly Twisted 5
AllisonI pace back and forth in Gregory's hotel suite, staring at my phone as it explodes with calls and texts.Mostly they're from Papa. The messages were confused and plaintive at first. He begged me to come back. Said he'd make sure everything was okay, that he'd take care of me no matter what. That Paul would make a fine husband. That what happened to Freya was a tragedy, but not Paul's fault.Then his messages got ugly. I could practically read the fear. He called me everything—spoiled, ugly, a bitch, a whore—said he regretted treating me so well, only for me to betray him. He demanded my return. He said he'd kill me if I didn't.Then my cousins began calling. An uncle, some friends of Papa's that I've known for a while, even my godfather. Some tried to be kind. Some, not so much. All of them want me to go back to the Debarcio mansion and go through with my marriage to Paul.I refused to answer. Only kept pacing, back and forth, staring at the phone on the coffee table as the sc
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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
