Beautiful Mistakes (The Twisted Sisters #1)
1. Lucrezia
Chapter 1
Lucrezia
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I push open the heavy metal front door of the Destroyers clubhouse, and the deafening roar of conversation grinds to an abrupt halt as I cross the threshold. My heels click sharply against the concrete floor as each step commands the attention of every man in the room. The sound echoes off the walls like a metronome counting down to something inevitable. Dozens of eyes turn toward me—some surprised, others intrigued, and a few with smirks tugging at their lips. These men have seen their share of trouble and dealt twice as much—the curious ones interest me; everyone else can fuck off and die.
The scent of smoke, leather, and spilled whiskey pervades the air, a potent cocktail of vices that clings to everything it touches. I square my shoulders beneath my jacket as a few familiar faces blur into the background. I’ve crawled through hell itself to get here; I’m not deterred by a little sin and debauchery.
I let my gaze sweep across the men in the room, dismissing the ones who don’t matter—the two drunks slumped at a rickety table, the card sharks with their hollow eyes, the would-be tough guys flexing muscles that haven’t seen the action I’m about to propose. I’m not here for them. I’m here for one man—the only one who can help me bring down my brother. He’s the one person in this den of thieves and killers who might understand why blood ties sometimes need to be severed with a knife.
As I scan the room, my eyes lock on him. Raiden Drake. He’s lounging on a worn-out leather couch, a drink cradled casually in his hand, amber liquid catching the light with each subtle movement. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms adorned with intricate tattoos—serpentine patterns that writhe with each flex of muscle beneath his skin. Dark hair frames a face that’s all sharp angles and hardened edges, a face that’s seen enough violence to know how to wear it like armor.
He watches me with a glint of amusement, one eyebrow raised, and completely unfazed by my entrance. If anything, he looks interested. Very interested. His fingers tap a lazy rhythm against his glass, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in what could be either an invitation or a warning.
I make a beeline toward him, and the conversations behind me pick up in hushed whispers. As I approach, I catch a flicker of curiosity shoot through his gaze before he slightly tilts his head. I stop just close enough for him to catch the scent of my perfume—a blend of jasmine and sandalwood.
Raiden takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes tracing me with lazy confidence as he looks me up and down. “Can I help you?” he drawls as I draw near, his voice low, rough, and laced with a challenge.
I meet his gaze head-on, unbothered by the way he looks at me as if I’m something he wants to claim and tame. Men have been looking at me this way my entire life. You either learn to be afraid of it or learn how to use it to your advantage. “I need the best the Destroyers have to offer,” I say steadily. “And I’m told that’s you.”
He chuckles before setting his drink down and letting his eyes roam over me unabashedly. “Is that so?” Raiden rises from the couch, unfolding his frame until he’s towering over me. He’s a hair over 6’6”, and when he crosses his arms over his chest, it’s a look that would scare lesser men. It’s a good thing I’m not a man. “That’s a dangerous choice, darlin’.”
I don’t step back. Instead, I lift my chin and hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by his imposing posture. I’m over a foot shorter than him, but I’ve dealt with men who think their size alone demands submission. I’m not afraid. “Good. I’m tired of safe.”
A spark of interest flashes in his eyes, and then a smirk widens across his face as he leans in ever so slightly. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over me that should feel threatening but instead sends a thrill down my spine. “Then you’ve come to the right place, little girl.”
“Raiden Drake,” I say, letting his name roll off my tongue with deliberate slowness as I savor each syllable. “I was expecting someone a little more intimidating.”
He raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his blue eyes as he studies me with renewed interest. “And I wasn’t expecting you at all.”
“Disappointed?” I challenge.
“Not yet.” Raiden’s gaze narrows, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “But that depends on why you’re here and what you think you’ll find.” The last words come out as more of a warning than a question.
“Kristopher Tate sends his regards,” I reply, watching carefully for his reaction to the name drop.
At the mention of Kristopher, his expression hardens just a fraction, the earlier amusement vanishing like smoke. “Kristopher,” he repeats, his tone unreadable, rolling the name around his mouth like he’s tasting something bitter. “And who are you to Kristopher?”
“His half-sister, but family ties are complicated.”
Raiden studies me for a long moment before he responds. “And what does Kristopher think I can do for you?” He asks finally.
“It’s not about what he thinks,” I say coolly, letting a hint of steel creep into my voice. “It’s about what I need.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles flexing under the fabric of his expensive shirt. Raiden’s posture shifts subtly, taking on the predatory stillness of someone suddenly paying very close attention. “And what is it you think you need from me?”
“I want to destroy Saverio Castiglione’s empire,” I state plainly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And I hear you’re the man who can help me do it.”
A slow, predatory smile spreads across Raiden’s face, transforming his features into something dark and menacing. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I don’t have time for games,” I correct, keeping my spine straight and my chin lifted. “And neither do you, from what I hear.”
He steps closer, invading my personal space with deliberate intent, looming over me with the kind of practiced intimidation that would make most people step back. The scent of cologne mingles with leather, smoke, and something uniquely Raiden. “You walk into my clubhouse, drop the name of a man I haven’t seen in years, and expect me to jump on board with your little vendetta?”
“I expect you to recognize an opportunity when you see one,” I counter, refusing to be cowed by his proximity. “And if what I’ve heard is true, you don’t have particularly fond feelings for Saverio anyway.”
He laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it—just a dark, dangerous sound that raises the hair on the back of my neck. “And what’s in it for me, sweetheart?”
“Revenge. Power. Whatever you want,” I reply in a bored tone. “I’m offering you a blank check from a Castiglione more powerful than my brother could ever hope to be.”
Raiden tilts his head, piecing together the puzzle bit by bit. His eyes rake over me with calculated intensity before he responds. “Tempting. But I don’t take orders from anyone but Priest. Never have, never will.”
“I’m not giving orders,” I reply sharply, bristling at the implication. “I’m offering a partnership. There’s a difference between working with someone and working for someone.”
His gaze is intense and unwavering. “There’s just one problem—I don’t do partnerships either, doll.”
“Then consider it a mutual goal,” I counter, refusing to back down. I came back to the States with one plan in mind. There are dozens of people I need to reach out to, but without Raiden Drake and the Destroyers, I have nothing. “We both want the same thing.”
“You got a lot of nerve coming here without an introduction, a formal offer, or even a hey, how’s your day? That’s a real fuckton of audacity you’re carrying around, princess.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A moment of silence stretches between us. The air feels charged, and every nerve in my body is on high alert, like a livewire ready to spark. His dark eyes bore into mine, searching for weakness. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says quietly.
“I’ve been playing dangerous games my whole life.” The words come out steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.
Raiden leans in, his lips a fraction of a millimeter away from my ear, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “In this game, I make the rules.” His whispered words send an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I turn my head slightly, our faces now centimeters apart. His lips are so close to mine that it almost counts as a kiss. The tension between us crackles like static electricity. “Rules mean nothing to me,” I assert, my voice equal parts defiance and desire.
Raiden’s lips curl into a slow grin, his gaze predatory and confident. He leans in close, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Then you’ve met your match, little girl.” The promise in his voice sounds like a threat.
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers grazing my skin with deliberate slowness. The touch sends a jolt through me, electricity dancing beneath my skin where his fingertips trail down my cheek. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his simple caress affects me, even as my pulse thunders in my ears.
“So, gorgeous,” he says, his voice low and husky, like steel encased in velvet. “Why should I trust you?”
I arch an eyebrow, letting a hint of mockery creep into my expression. “Who said anything about trust?”
He chuckles again, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the space between us. His blue eyes glitter with something that might be amusement. “Fair enough.” Raiden steps back with fluid grace, gesturing toward a weathered door at the back of the clubhouse, its paint peeling at the edges. “Let’s talk somewhere a bit more private.”
I nod, following his lead. As we move through the crowd, I can feel the eyes of the other men on us, whispers following in our wake. A few of them nudge each other, heads bent close in speculation, while others make no attempt to hide their open stares. But I ignore them all, keeping my shoulders squared and my chin high.
My focus is singular, locked on Raiden’s broad back as he parts the sea of leather and denim before us. I know if they get a whiff of fear, a single tremor of uncertainty, they won’t take me seriously. That’s the problem with being a woman in a place like this: men are allowed to be lawless, to wear their rough edges like badges of honor, while women have to be flawless, perpetually walking a tightrope between confidence and arrogance.
This is the first move in a game I’ve been planning for years, each step meticulously calculated like pieces on a chessboard. And Raiden Drake, with his reputation of savagery and raw power, is an essential part of my strategy.
As we enter the private room, the door closes behind us with a heavy thud that seems to seal my fate. Raiden turns to face me, arms crossed over his chest again, his expression a careful mask of neutrality tinged with curiosity. “So, tell me—who are you? And what do you have in mind for Saverio Castiglione?”
Rage and unwavering determination converge in a single, explosive moment. “I’m Lucrezia Castiglione, and I want to dismantle my brother’s operation brick by bloody brick until all that remains is a pile of rubble. But I can’t do it alone. I need someone by my side who knows how to break things.”
“Breaking things is my specialty. Been doing it since before I could walk.”
“Then we’re off to a good start.”
Raiden studies me intently, his gaze boring into mine as if searching for any trace of hesitation or weakness. When he doesn’t find it, he continues. “You realize this won’t be simple. Or clean. Men like Saverio don’t go down without taking others with them.”
“I don’t want simple. And I stopped caring about clean a long time ago. I spent five years in a convent because of my brother. I spent five years being beaten, humiliated, and talked down to. To say nothing of the years that came before it.” The words taste like ash and vindication on my tongue. “I will make him pay for what he did to me.”
Raiden nods slowly and thoughtfully, his earlier suspicion giving way to something that might be begrudging respect. “Alright. I’m listening. But once we start this, there’s no turning back.”
For the first time since I walked into the clubhouse, I allow myself a small smile, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Good. Turning back was never an option, anyway.”