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Wickedly Charming
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Wickedly Twisted 2
RitaIt's not the kind of bar I imagined.Scar Scarfoni is a martinis-in-the-lounge kind of guy. He likes high-end everything, from suits to cars to whiskey. He works hard, earns obscene amounts of money, and spends like he's never heard of the word retirement.He's not shy about it, either.But this place is a dive. There's a drop ceiling—an actual drop ceiling with probably-not-but-maybe-asbestos tiles—and fake wood all over the walls. Neon signs advertise beers I'm pretty sure don't exist anymore, and some ancient-looking faded pictures of retired Boston sports stars are tacked up on the walls—with actual tacks.It's quiet at four in the afternoon. Scar scowls around for a moment until he leads me to the far end and deposits me at the end of a curving bar in the shadows of what I assume must be a kitchen. Or maybe where they send discontinued beers to die. "You'll stay here," he declares."I thought the meeting wasn't until six," I say, blinking rapidly. "You want me to sit here fo
Wickedly Twisted 3
RitaI sip my non-alcoholic drink, eat my healthy deep-fried wings, and think about the way Scar shoved the seatbelt over my body. It's hard not to daydream about that man, with those big hands, beautiful eyes, his shoulders like mountains, his slim-fitted suits—if he weren't such a nightmare, I'd probably find him attractive.Fortunately, I don't. He's handsome, but that's different from being attractive. I want to look at him in a purely clinical way, like how I look at statues in museums.I don't want to get anywhere near him.Except for when he gets all bossy and shoves the seatbelt down over me.Then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't mind if he got a little bit more exploratory. With his hands. On my body.God, Rita, get it together.An hour passes. Then another. Then I'm creeping up on hour three and the bar's jam-packed. I'm on my third basket of fries, my second order of wings, and like my tenth club soda. At this point I'm pretty sure the bartender hates me for taking up valuable
Wickedly Twisted 4
ScarI accept the cigar from Orin Callahan, clip the end, and light it with my own torch. "Very nice," I say, nodding with satisfaction as I take a deep puff. "Cuban?""Of course," Orin says, grinning. He sips a whiskey, ice clinking in the glass. The room is dim and smoky, dominated by a large table and surrounded by storage shelves. We're deep in a back room, hidden behind racks of dry goods. The door is lost in shadows somewhere behind me. Orin dominates the space, though his four sons take up plenty of room on their own. I'm at the far end, closest to the door. "You know, Cubans aren't even all that much better these days.""Status symbol," his son Nolan says, a tall boy with dark hair and light eyes."Like you know a fucking thing about status," Carson says, another Callahan son, this one broader with freckles and a loud laugh.Nolan's about to rip into his brother but Orin waves them off. "Enough, boys." He glares at his children, all four of them. Finley, the youngest, sits bac
Wickedly Twisted 5
Rita"Orin, this is my new wife, Rita Hunters. Rita, darling, say hello."What the hell?Did he just say new wife? As in, I'm his wife, and we're married?Like, husband, wife, loving relationship, sharing a marital bed, all that stuff?My brain's slow to process. I'm still in panic mode because of the fire back at my apartment, but now my fight-or-flight response is also severely triggered by the four massive thugs with the guns they're clearly itching to point at my face.Now I understand why Scar wanted me to stay behind.These guys are monsters.No, it's worse than that. I overheard a little of what they were saying as I came into the room.These guys are drug dealers. They're organized crime. They're probably freaking mafia.I knew Scar had some shady clients. Most lawyers do, especially at a certain level. But I had no clue he was actively courting criminals.Everyone's staring at me. The older man sitting in the center narrows his gaze like he's looking for a weakness. Like he's
Wickedly Twisted 6
RitaThe apartment building isn't burning anymore when I get back to Texas.Instead, it's a blackened husk.Even from across the street, the coals are still hot. Steam rises into the early morning Texas air. My skin feels like I'm warming myself by a fire. Sunlight slants through drifting, lazy clouds, and it would almost be pretty.If it didn't represent the total destruction of my existence.Everything I owned was in that apartment. Everything except for my car and the few meager belongings I brought with me to Boston. Pictures from my childhood, my high school yearbooks, all my clothes, my expensive make up, my climbing gear, shoes, mugs, plates, paintings, little keepsakes and knickknacks I've collected over the years—all gone now."Horrible, isn't it?"I flinch at the voice and look over. My landlord Eduardo's standing ten feet away. I don't even remember him showing up. He's staring at the wreck with his hands on his hips, looking exhausted. He's older, mid-fifties, balding and
Wickedly Twisted 7
RitaI take out my phone and try my mom for the fifth time today. It rings, and rings, and rings. I want to scream at her. How can she disappear on me again, now of all times? I need her, need someone, and she's supposed to be my parent. I know I'm a grown woman, I'm a freaking adult, but shit, my life is a mess. All I want someone to listen to me for once.Finally, the line clicks to life. I expect to hear an answering machine robot, but instead, it's actually her. Relief floods me. Finally, I start feeling like something's going right. She sounds a little out of breath, but it's her. Old feelings of comfort and safety try to push their way to the surface."Hi, honey!" she says, chipper as always. "Sorry I keep missing you. We've been so busy this weekend. Your dad and I went to this amazing retreat with a few other couples we've gotten friendly with, and we've just been swapping this whole time, really getting to know—""Mom," I say sharply before she can start to describe what I ca
Wickedly Twisted 8
ScarI'm going to get myself killed.And I probably deserve it.I don't know what the hell I was thinking, saying Rita is my wife. As soon as I went back into that room, I could tell the vibe had changed. Orin went along with the meeting like nothing had happened, but his sons kept staring at me, especially that creature Gregory.They could tell it was bullshit.But it was such an insane lie, they probably couldn't figure out how to prove that I'm a fraud.I likely could've told them the truth. Admitted she was my legal assistant. Apologized for misleading them. I would've lost the job, but even violent gangsters aren't stupid enough to straight out murder a couple of people in the back of a bar.Probably, at least.But some part of me can't let go. I can't lose, not if there's a way to turn it around.And so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.Now I'm fucked because Orin wants to have another meeting.And he wants me to bring my new wife.This is bad. Extremely bad. I co
Wickedly Twisted 9
RitaI lounge back on the bed paid for by Scar, wondering if I just passed up my only chance at salvaging my life.He wants to marry me. For real, an actual marriage.Fake, but also not fake.The idea sends a shiver down my spine.The only thing I know about a marriage is my parents, and from my perspective, that looks awful. I could maybe play pretend—smile, kiss him, hang on his arm at parties—but an actual marriage?I can't do it. Even at my lowest, I can't.I'm miserable. Stupid and miserable. And a little drunk. I probably shouldn't have had three glasses of wine. As I wallow in my misery, my phone rings. Cait's face pops up on the screen, looking radiant and angelic. "Hi, girl!" she says. In the background, trees bend and blow in a slight breeze. I swear I hear mandolin music plucking nearby like a bluegrass band follows her around serenading her beauty. God, I love this girl, but I am in a sour mood."Hey, girl," I say, trying to smile, suddenly mortified of my homeless status
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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
Wickedly Twisted 56
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
