30. Alina
30
Alina
A second dark sedan pulls in behind the first. The doors fly open. Four men step out, all dressed in black.
In the split second before I recognize them, my terror expands and swallows me whole. Then Damian holds out his arm and I run to him, throwing myself against him. He pulls me in to his side, his arm a band of steel around me.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice deadly calm. Despite that, I can feel the rage pounding through him.
“No,” I whisper.
He looks down, catches my chin and tilts my head so he can look into my eyes. His expression is flat, cold, his demon-angel eyes burning. “Did he hurt you?” he asks again.
“He yanked my arm. Dragged me away from the club.”
He nods, then glances over to where Luca has Enzo pinned on the ground. He walks over and stands over Enzo, then puts his foot on Enzo’s wrist pinning it to the ground. He takes his gun from his waist and slowly screws on a silencer, taking his time while Enzo struggles and spits curses.
“You laid hands on her,” Damian says, his voice like ice. “Grabbed her, you fucking worthless piece of shit. You bruised her. Hit her.” He leans down and places the silencer against the back of Enzo’s hand where all the tendons cross the wrist.
He fires point blank.
Enzo howls and jerks against Luka’s hold.
I wrap my arms around myself and stumble back, sagging against the side of the car. From this distance, in the darkness, I can’t see the blood and bits of shattered bone, but I know they’re there.
Damian glances at me, then at Joe. “Alina might be more comfortable in the car,” he says. “Put the music on. Something loud.”
“No,” I say, straightening of the side of the car. I’m not going to hide. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what Damian does, who he is. What he is.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives a short nod. Turning away, he shifts his stance, squatting down so he’s eye level with Enzo.
“You killed my father,” he says. “Thank you for the admission of guilt, by the way. That was easy.”
“I admitted nothing,” Enzo snarls.
“But you did,” Damian says. He pulls out his phone and plays back his voicemail, which cuts out right after Enzo admits to killing Damian’s father.
“You bitch,” Enzo howls, struggling against Luca’s hold, his face contorting with hate and rage and fear as he tries to lunge for me. “You fucking bitch.”
Damian backhands Enzo hard enough to send his head snapping back. “Watch your mouth,” he says.
He rises and presses the sole of his shoe down on Enzo’s other wrist.
“Wait,” Enzo says, struggling, trying to pull free. “You don’t need to do this. Wait.”
Damian laughs, the sound chilling. “You don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t need to do, Bianchi. But I’ll tell you what, though. Answer my question, just one question, and this all stops.”
“What question?”
“Who paid you?”
“I can’t,” Enzo says, shaking his head. “They’ll kill me.”
This time, it’s Luca who laughs, sounding genuinely amused.
“And you think Damian won’t kill you?” he asks.
Enzo shoots a desperate look at me. “Alina—”
Damian presses the silencer down hard on Enzo’s wrist and shoots.
Enzo howls and sobs.
“You don’t say her name,” Damian says. “You don’t look at her. You are not fit to even breathe the same air as her.” He grabs Enzo’s hair again and jerks his head up. “Last chance, Bianchi. You tell me who paid you and this ends. Or you stay silent and I take you to my brother. Leo enjoys a good question and answer period. He’ll cut off parts of you, take his time, peel your skin off in strips. He’ll make it last, even after you give up every secret you’ve ever known.”
When Enzo says nothing, Damian shrugs and steps away. “Leo will be very happy to see you.”
“No!” Enzo howls. “Please. It was Mikhail.”
“Mikhail who?” Damian says softly. “Full name. Who hired you to kill my father?”
Enzo’s sobbing now, tears and snot running down his face. “Mikhail Ivanov.”
“Thank you,” Damian says.
Luca lets go of Enzo, rises and steps away.
Enzo stays on the ground, hunched over his ruined hands, sobbing.
“I’m a man of my word,” Damian says. “This all stops.”
Enzo looks up. “Thank you. Thank you—”
Damian shoots him through the head and the heart.
I sink back against the car, feeling numb. He killed Enzo. Killed him the same way that Enzo killed Damian’s father. Killed him just like I’ve dreamed of killing the man who killed my parents.
“Bring him,” Damian says to Luca, striding toward me. He rests his butt against the car beside me and slouches down. We’re side by side, our shoulders touching.
Luca grabs Enzo’s feet while Joe hooks him under the arms. They carry his body over to the first sedan and shove him into the trunk. Vito slams it shut. Then the three men get into the car and drive away, leaving Damian and me alone.
He takes my hand and leads me around to the passenger side of the sedan, opens the door and waits as I get in. Then he rounds the hood and climbs in.
“My purse is in the Dumpster,” I say.
He shoots me a look, his dark eyes flat and cold. With a sigh, he gets out. I wait in the dark until he returns, purse in hand.
“Your phone?” he says.
“In my back pocket.”
Wordlessly, he holds out his hand. I pull out my phone and unlock it. Pulling up the text exchange between me and Enzo, who I thought was Markus, I hand him the phone so he can read it. He doesn’t. He just holds my phone, his gaze locked on mine.
“You thought you were meeting your brother?”
I nod.
“You know that saying about doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result?” he says. “You snuck out of our bed to talk to your brother for the second time. The first time, you pissed me off. This time, you could have been killed.”
His tone is flat, too flat, like he’s forcing every bit of emotion from his words, his thoughts because allowing even a tiny speck to leak through will open a floodgate he can’t stop.
“But you got Enzo, and you got a name,” I reason. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
He sighs. He doesn’t read the text exchange. Instead, he adds contacts to my phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Adding Luca, Joe, and Vito’s numbers.” He hands me back the phone without reading the text exchange.
He’s telling me in the clearest way possible that he trusts me, that he knows I didn’t sneak out to meet Enzo, that he knows I’m telling the truth.
I press my lips together and fight the tears that threaten to fall.
“You okay?” he asks.
I swallow. “Not exactly.”
With a nod, he pulls into the street. His hands are relaxed on the wheel, but I can feel the vibrating tension coming off him in waves.
He doesn’t talk, just drives, and after a few minutes, I realize we’re in an unfamiliar part of Vegas. We pull up in front of a low rise building with views of the Las Vegas skyline and the mountains. The building itself is beautiful, pale stucco and warm wood.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Home,” Damian says. His tone doesn’t invite more questions, so I tag along as he unlocks a door, leads me inside and flicks on the lights.
My breath catches. If the condo I’ve been staying in is gorgeous, this place is sublime. I turn a full circle. The kitchen is beautiful with a waterfall island and a million cabinets. The dining room and adjoining living room lead out to a massive terrace with outdoor seating and a dining table and even a barbecue. And everywhere I look I see Damian’s stamp. Elegant with just a hint of glitz.
Home. He said we were going home. Not to the soulless condo that lacked anything personal.
To his home. His real home.
I spin and stare at him, my heart ponding.
His gaze searches my face, then he pulls me into his embrace. I wrap my arms around his waist, my cheek to his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.
“Do you know where my brother is? Do you know if he’s okay?” I ask.
I feel his sigh.
“He asked me not to tell you, just in case he fails.”
That makes no sense. “Fails?” When Damian makes no reply, I say, “You gave Markus your word that you wouldn’t tell me?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you give him your word that you wouldn’t confirm it if I guess right?”
He’s quiet for a second. “No.”
“Is he in rehab? He didn’t want you to tell me in case he doesn’t get clean? In case he fails?”
Again, he’s quiet, then he says, “Yes.”
Tears sting my eyes. Markus is in rehab.
“Are you paying for his rehab?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I tighten my arms around his waist. Markus is safe. Better than safe. He’s working on getting well. And Damian is making that happen.
“Why are you doing this for him?” I ask.
He smiles, his real smile, the one that creates the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I’m doing it for you.” He runs the backs of his fingers along my cheek.
For me. I don’t know what to do with that, how to process my emotions.
“How did you get to me so fast?” I ask, thinking that it had only been a few minutes between the time I left him the voicemail and the time he showed up with Luca and Vito and Joe.
“Tracker on your phone,” Damian says. “But that was smart, leaving me the message so I could find you.”
“A tracker on my…” I should be angry. He put a tracker on my phone without my knowledge or consent. But if he hadn’t, Enzo could have taken me who knows where.
“I have enemies that will use you to get to me, Alina. I need to know where you are. Always,” he says. “Need to know where to find you. Sabina has trackers in her earrings and the ring she always wears, just in case they take her phone.”
They. He’s talking about enemies. About the Ivanovs or any other group who would take Sabina as a hostage to use against the Russos. Take me as a hostage.
“How could anyone use me to get to you?” I ask. I know. In my heart, I know. But I want, need to hear the words.
He lowers his head and rests his forehead against mine. “I didn’t plan this, Alina. Didn’t plan to want you. Need you. I never planned to make myself weak.”
“Damian—”
He cuts me off with a finger against my lips. “You are a liability. A way to get to me. And I don’t fucking care. You are worth more to me than my own fucking life. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I…” I stare up at him, at the hard line of his jaw and his unsmiling mouth, at his dark, fathomless eyes, and I say, “I love you, Damian. I love you so much.”
He cups my cheeks, his gaze locked on mine. His expression is hard, intent. “If you choose me, Alina, it’s forever. You get that, right?”
My heart swells. “Yes,” I whisper. “I get that.” Then I smile. “If you choose me, Damian, it’s forever.”
“I chose you the night we met. Love at fucking first sight.” His voice is rough, like the words are torn from somewhere deep inside.
“You sure that wasn’t just lust?” I ask.
“Lust, yeah.” He runs the pad of his thumb against my lower lip. “But it’s more than that. I love that you’re strong. Brave. Smart. Funny. I love the sounds you make when you come. I love the parts of your soul that you shared with the world when you wrote your short story. I love the way you tilt your head when you have a question. I love the way you hold it together when shit gets rough. I love your loyalty. I fucking love you, Alina Madsen.”
“I fucking love you, too, Damian Russo.”
He lowers his head and kisses me, his lips on mine, possessive, like he’s imprinting himself on my soul with that kiss.
“I need to go. Leo will be expecting me,” he says. “I’m having someone pack up your belongings and bring them here. Give yourself a tour. Bedroom’s upstairs to the right. Upstairs to the left is your writing room.”
“My—”
“Desk. Laptop. Bookshelves…” He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out an Amex Black card. He hands it to me. “Anything I didn’t think of, just order.”
I stare at him, hope and joy and a little trepidation mixing in my veins. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” I whisper.
“Not asking,” he says.
“So let me get this straight,” I say. “I’m a liability. A weakness. You are not asking but rather telling me I’m moving in…”
He waits for me to continue.
I don’t.
Damian nods slowly. “You’ve seen who I am. What I do. I understand your hesitation.”
“My only hesitation is the fact that you’re bossy as fuck.” I swallow, thinking of what he told me about his dad. “What if I give you my entire heart, my life, my everything, and you see some other blonde who catches your eye?”
His lips quirk. “No other blondes. Maybe a brunette…”
When I narrow my eyes, he laughs, that gorgeous, warm, happy laugh.
“I don’t want anyone else. You’re it for me, Alina Madsen. Only you. Got it? I told you the night you agreed to become my captive, I don’t cheat.”
I search his face, but see no deception. Only sincerity.
“Be with me, Alina. Here. Everywhere. Forever.”
Again, he waits for a reply.
It doesn’t take long before he gets one this time. “Okay.”
He raises a brow. “Okay what?”
“I’ll be with you, Damian. Here. Everywhere. Forever.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Asshole.”
“Good.” Then he pulls me against him for a hard, swift kiss.
I’ve fallen madly in love with Damian Russo—mafia prince, killer, criminal. And Damian Russo loves me too. I watch as he walks out the door, knowing he’ll come back. To me. Always to me.
THE END (FOR NOW)
Thank you so much for reading Twisted Fate . I hope you love Damian and Alina as much as I do! Please consider leaving a review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend!
Vegas Vicious is a series of interconnected stand-alone novels about the Russo crime family.
What should you read next?
1. Double or Nothing, a Twisted Fate Bonus Epilogue (more Damian and Alina!)
2. Read the next book, Ruthless Vow (Leo and Nicole’s story!)
3. Read book 3, Dark Promise