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Chapter Nineteen
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Wickedly Twisted Chapter Twenty
CaraI'm almost too angry to notice the lavish interior.But not quite.The entryway has an enormous crystal chandelier dangling over a twin staircase with massive marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses frolicking around a central fountain. Actual fish swim inside the water, which seems almost absurd. The floor's marble, with more marble columns, and a ton of intricate tile work along the ground and walls. Doorways and hallways lead off into different parts of the house, but Eros heads right for the stairs and takes me to the second floor.We walk past a couple maids dusting and straightening. Each one smiles and greets Eros by bowing their heads respectfully, and he grunts a hello in reply. None of them flinch away or avert their eyes, and they both stare at me curiously. I take that as a good sign—at least his staff isn't terrified of him, even if they act a little overly formal.The whole place is like a museum. I've never seen so much luxury in one building before. I grew up i
Wickedly Twisted Chapter Twenty-One
ErosI lean back in my leather chair and watch Lycus pace back and forth in front of my desk. "You lost your mind," he says, shaking his head. "Seriously, bro, you lost your fucking mind."I finish my whiskey and swirl the ice. "Maybe.""Not only is she an Italian, but she's fucking Chris Conti's mob wife." He stops and stares at me with astonishment. "How the hell did you get yourself involved with this? I always thought you were the responsible one. Maybe a little emotional—""I am not emotional," I growl at him."Case in point," he says and groans. "Seriously, how did this happen?""Bad luck," I admit but inwardly think maybe it was good luck instead."You have to cut it off. Give the girl some money, put her on a plane, and fly her out to fucking Barbados. Wash your hands of all this.""Not going to happen.""Eros, youcannotkeep Chris Conti's ex-fucking-wife. Do you have any idea how the family's going to react?"I lean back and grin at him. "If I recall, you're the one that encou
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CaraI last twenty minutes alone in his sitting room before I start snooping.I try to justify myself as I go through his medicine cabinet. I'm just trying to learn more about the man I'm going to fake-marry—or real-marry, or pretend-real-marry, or whatever this is—so it's not immoral to look at all his stuff.Razor, shaving cream, Band-Aids, toothbrush, nothing interesting.I'm not really sure what the hell we're doing, but I'm drifting along like a log on a wave lost in the current, and Eros is the entire ocean.His closet is better. Enormous and filled with expensive, custom-tailored suits, racks of designer jeans and shoes and shirts, and a hundred ties in black and dark blue. There's a shelf covered in glittering, no-doubt priceless watches, lit with custom bulbs so the whole display glows like a storefront window.Eros doesn't strike me as the type of man obsessed with the way he looks, but his closet suggests otherwise.And his comment from earlier flits through my mind: in thi
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Cara"You get one night to acclimate," Eros says before we go to bed. "One night, asteraki mu, and then we are sleeping in my bed together, like husband and wife.""Enjoy the couch." I slam the door in his face and crawl under the covers, curling up like a tiny ball, lost in the middle of the mattress.I don't sleep very much. At first, I toss and turn, thinking about Eros outside the door sleeping in the sitting area. That asshole accused me of being aspy—me, of all people, a woman that hates the Pavone Famiglia more than anyone else in the world. What's he thinking? He can't really believe I've been lying to him this whole time.And yet can I blame him for being paranoid? We're strangers and he's doing a lot to help me, and he's trying to come to grips with our situation as much as I am. Still, it doesn't matter, I'd never in my life spy for my ex-husband, let alone for his stupid mafia family, and it drives me insane that the idea would even occur to Eros.Does he really think I'm
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CaraI stand behind the counter in the Demetrios Diner and wipe down a mug. I'm in a pair of tights and Phel's extra uniform. It's scratchy and a little too big, but I don't care about anything right now.I just want to be busy.Eros didn't want to let me go, but I didn't ask his permission. I stormed out of that house, ignoring him when he told me to stop, and approached one of the maids I recognized from the day before. I ordered her to find me a car and a driver, and she stared in terror until Eros told her to obey my demands."We will speak about this later," he said as I slammed the car door and his driver pulled out.Now I'm just trying to get myself together. I know they were only shoes—but they're also so much more than shoes.I lost everything. My life was ruined the moment I ran out on Christopher, and I did it anyway, because I knew that staying would be even worse.But now I have no family, no life, no friends, nothing.Those shoes were all I kept.Now they're gone."You s
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CaraI follow Eros back into the house, up the central staircase, and into his wing of the mansion. Lycus remains behind with the car and obnoxiously reminds Eros about their upcoming meeting."What's so important he keeps talking about it?" I ask as Eros pauses outside of his office door."We're in the middle of replacing the business we lost when you threw money in the face of the dockworkers' union reps," he says mildly.I clear my throat and try not to turn red. "Right. Sorry about that.""No, you're not. Come." He walks into his office and I follow.On the desk is a cardboard box. It's out of place in the otherwise pristine room. Big bookshelves with leather bound volumes flank either wall, and a huge window overlooks the grounds and the city beyond. A full bar covers the back wall with a wide selection of brown liquor."You pulled me from work just to look at a box?" I ask."Among other things." He hands me a phone, the newest Apple model, and I arch an eyebrow at it. "I had one
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ErosThe meeting with the freight company goes well. I head back into the house, feeling decent for the first time in days. I'm solving my shipping problem, I found the damn shoes, and Cara didn't fight me about wearing the ring.I feel good as I step into my room and spot her standing out on the balcony.She's wearing a black, lace cocktail dress with a modest neckline and a fitted waist that shows off her lovely curves. I stand and stare at her, heart racing with surprise as she holds the ring up to the dying evening light and watches it glitter. That's my fiancée, and my guts twist with excitement, and my heart flutters in my chest, and I'm having a reaction I've never felt before—It's desire, but it's also joy, pure and unbridled excitement. Cara looks incredible, absolutely fucking stunning, with understated makeup and her hair in a simple twist, and she's wearing my ring.Myring.She turns and catches my eye—and grins at me.That's when I look down and notice the shoes.The fuc
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Eros"Well, with her gone, let's eat, shall we?" Anissa gestures for everyone to sit.I take the head of the table with Cara on my left. Helen sits on my right, with Lycus next to Cara, and Sophia and Anissa next to Helen. The tension is so thick and horrifying that all I can do is drink wine and glare at my cousin and my aunt as they whisper to each other, grinning and looking at Cara, acting like two catty high school cheerleaders.Which isn't so bad, all things considered.At least they're not trying to kill anyone.Lycus talks to Cara about the diner and Helen gets involved. "I like Demetrios," Helen says. "Very respectful man. Makes a great lamb gyro too.""They're nice people," Cara says, smiling. "They really welcomed me into their business and they've been good to me.""Old school Greek hospitality," Lycus says nodding. "Helps that you're attached to the lord here.""Easy," I grumble."Demetrios is basically Eros's biggest fan," Cara says with a massive grin. "You should've se
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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
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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
