by Ella James
Twisted Fate
Dark Heart Duet, Book Two
Ella James
Contents
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1. Luca
2. Elise
3. Isa
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4. Elise
5. Luca
6. Elise
7. Elise
8. Luca
9. Luca
10. Elise
11. Elise
12. Elise
13. Elise
14. Luca
15. Elise
16. Elise
17. Elise
18. Elise
19. Elise
20. Elise
21. Elise
22. Elise
23. Luca
24. Elise
25. Luca
26. Luca
27. Luca
28. Elise
29. Elise
30. Luca
31. Luca
32. Luca
33. Elise
34. Elise
35. Luca
36. Elise
37. Luca
Epilogue
Keep In Touch
Twisted Fate
Dark Heart Duet, Book 2
Interval
“There is an old illusion. It is called good and evil.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche
1
Luca
TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER
It’s always looked like something out of a Batman movie. The high-rise is sleek black glass, fogged in spots by my white cloud breath, gleaming with the red and green and blinking blue and neon pink reflections of other buildings, cars, and street lights. It’s twenty-two stories. Is it black, or just reflecting nighttime? I don’t know. I never come here in daylight. And I don’t remember from…before.
Roberto asked to see me here tonight. Pretty sure he mostly wants me at the poker table. He so rarely asks that when he does, I can’t say no. Honestly, I wouldn’t even think about it. Even if it’s here.
I feel okay, though. I can do this. Power through. Isn’t that what they say? Sometimes you’ve just gotta power through by force—like ramming a hole through a wall. If it hurts, you figure that out later.
I don’t think she’ll be here. So what if her dad’s giving a speech? These banquets for the Most Holy Redeemer “charity”—which is really a money front—are just an excuse for the old guys to drink and smoke cigars and fuck the serving girls if they’ve got that kind of thing worked out with their wives. A surprising number of them do.
Luigi’s people are working tonight, which means Leo is running the show. Afterward, he and Alesso will hook up with me. Roberto knows them both, and they’re welcome where I am—which is good, because Alesso doesn’t get out enough. Spends all his time working on bikes.
And Leo’s fancy girlfriend just dumped his ass. He’s been mopey, but I’m sure he could still work the table. Even I can’t read his poker face. Both my bros need to cut loose. I do, too. It’ll be a good night, I tell myself.
I blow out another cloudy breath and walk toward the gold revolving doors. Stepping in, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Weird the way I look like someone who belongs here, walking into the Columbus Building at nine-thirty on the last Friday in November. I’m wearing my own tux, with my grandfather’s cufflinks, and I’m glad to have them.
Anything that makes tonight more bearable is a win—right down to the orange Tic Tacs I’ve got riding in my pocket.
In another glass slot of the rotating door, there’s a red-haired girl in a long, blue gown. She steps out into the lobby, and then I do. She smiles over her shoulder. I arch my brow.
“So cold tonight,” she remarks as we walk toward the elevators.
“It is.” My voice sounds low. I look her over discreetly as we both approach the elevator banks, giving her a solid 8. Then she laughs and turns back toward the revolving doors.
“I left my purse!” She grins and shakes her head, her freckled face expressive and friendly, as if we know each other. “See you upstairs?”
“Yeah, sure.”
My cheeks feel a little warm as I step into the elevator. There are three mirrored walls and a glass one where I watch the woman walk toward the front doors. How old was she? Later twenties?
I look at the floor, and my eyes get stuck there. I don’t want to look at my reflection in the mirrored walls. Soon enough, the doors are opening, and I’m off on the twentieth floor.
One second, it’s all good. The next, my feet just…stop. It’s crowded in the hall and smells like flowers. It’s too loud, with a band playing just like every other time I’ve been here before. I feel like I can’t breathe.
I start down the hall, figuring I should find a room to step off into, but within seconds, I see is Roberto, surrounded by a few of his lieutenants. I’m in charge of all his shipping shit—of lots and lots of cargo and logistics—and he trusts me. He thinks I’m okay. I have to pretend tonight, or he’ll doubt me.
A few steps closer, and I see he’s smiling, holding a wine bottle toward me. When I’m close, he claps me on the shoulder, smiling even as he eagle-eyes my face. I give him a smile I hope isn’t too strained. He pats my shoulder again.
“Looking well,” he tells me in Italian. “Here—for your friends.” He waves the bottle, and I take it.
“Thank you.”
“Go and say hello. Later, you’ll come to the table,” he says, still in Italian.
I nod.
He gives me a knowing look, telling me with dark eyes that he knows I’ll struggle, being back here where things went down the week of high school graduation, but it’s all good. I head through the well-dressed crowd, past the ballroom, and toward the largest kitchen, feeling numb and heavy. Behind the swinging doors are faces I don’t know and smells that make my stomach churn. My hands are sweating and my body feels too light, like a helium-filled balloon.
I set the big wine bottle on the counter, pop the top off, grab a glass, and pour some. Then I toss it back like a shot.
Leo comes through the doors while I’m holding the damn glass. I can see him process that I’m here while trying to keep his face neutral.
He grins, looking professional with his light beard and white jacket. “Galante.” I get another fucking pat on the back in a span of less than ten minutes, but I can’t be mad. I can tell he’s worried—or something.
“Hey, man.” He looks me over. “You decide to clock in?”
I snort, and I get a few minutes of peace shooting the shit with Leo. Then Alesso comes in, holding a big pot of something, and he’s got his hair cut short as hell. I rib him, and he tells me he caught himself on fire fucking with a motorcycle.
I pour him a glass, and as he grabs it, I see his hand is wrapped in gauze.
“Oh shit. What happened?”
“Fuel leak that I didn’t notice.”
“Why are you here, hauling all this shit around?”
Leo’s toward the back now, talking to some girls who are carrying platters. “He didn’t have enough people who know which way is up,” Alesso tells me.
“You want me to swap clothes with you?” I could fill in for at least an hour. The Columbus Building is so packed tonight, I doubt Roberto would know—especially if he’s hanging out on one of those private floors, sequestered with his crew the way he was that first night I came here, the summer of Elise and me, when I brought him his dinner.
Alesso gives me a no, dumbass look. “Why’re you here, Luca?” He looks wary, like he knows already.
I look down before returning my gaze to his face.
&
nbsp; “I know he doesn’t like his boys to do lowly shit like catering.”
“Boys.”
“Well, what are you?” he asks.
“I’m not Roberto’s boy.” A cold sweat moves through me. Alesso gives me my third back clap in the last half hour. Then his arm goes around me. I’m pulled into a quick, tight hug. “You good?” It’s a murmur sort of near my ear.
“Are you?”
We’re looking at each other, and it feels surreal. He slaps at my arm. “Go home. Why you gotta be here? He wants you to be here? Go home, Luca.”
“Like you?”
He shakes his hand around. “I’m working, and I can’t feel my hand. That’s the thing about the third degree.”
I can’t speak for a long moment. Alesso sort of thumps my forehead. “You still got the scar I gave you.” He gives me a tight smile. “You remember that?”
“It was only two years ago.” I rub at the scar. After what happened… Well anyway, Alesso hit me—so I’d feel like shit was even after what went down here that May.
He grins wider. “Nothing between us, brother. Not even here at this place. You should go, though.” He shifts his gaze to the bottle, and with just that one look, I can feel the censure.
“I’m fine.”
He lifts his brows, and I can’t look at his face. “I’ll be out of here fast.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Want to come out after?”
He nods, slowly, I think; I’m not really looking at him. “Yeah. Leo and me are up for whatever.”
“Cool.”
For just a second, there’s something—I guess it’s a beat of awkwardness. At how it’s all so different now. How I’m…whatever I am. Roberto’s stand-in son or some shit. But it passes. I look up, and he’s happy. “We’re good for it,” he says. “It’ll be past midnight, though.”
“Yeah, I figured. If I get a few seconds, I’ll come in and powder up some zeppole.”
“Yeah, you’ll eat it.”
I give him a wolfish grin, and then he’s off again. Alesso’s busy when he’s helping Leo. This catering shit is a Leo thing at this point, but Aless will help out if you need him. Always.
I feel okay for a minute after I move back into the hallway. There’s some people here I know—old guys and young guys. Her dad’s around somewhere, and he’ll stop and speak if he sees me. So I’m hoping he doesn’t.
There was this thing last year. Someone was gunning for Mr. O’Hara and Roberto asked if anybody wanted to protect him. Sorta shadow him and carry some protection for him. I volunteered because of what he did that night before our graduation. And the night of what went down here.
Pretty sure Roberto told him I was one of his protectors, because I saw him a few months back, and he was extra friendly. He looks so much like her. Isn’t that just fucking weird—the way it turns my stomach.
There’s this guy, Bart, older than me. But we know each other. He’s one of the guys on the docks over in Red Hook. He’s dressed up for tonight, but he still looks like a fisherman. I like him okay, but he catches me by the crab cakes and talks for too long. I don’t want to be a dick, so I try to talk back. But there are roses here, white roses, and I think about the roses on that summer night before our senior year. I had no idea the other man in the room was Elise’s father. He gave mine a warning. Told him to stop ratting to the FBI.
It took me a little bit to put those pieces together. But after I saw Mr. O’Hara at Elise’s house, I knew. My old man had gotten more than one warning. I think he didn’t stop because the FBI kept telling him they’d move us out soon. Telling him that he was almost finished. Roberto sort of told me all that without telling me outright.
Thinking about my dad—even peripherally—makes me feel all weird and cold and spacy again. There’s some fruity liquor punch shit. The second I manage to get away from Bart, I grab a cup of it…but I think that goes against the rule. Wine then liquor, never sicker. Wine than beer, never fear? Shit—I should know this stuff.
Just to be safe, I dip back into the kitchen, pour a tall glass of Roberto’s wine, and step into a back hall with it.
Pathetic, I tell myself. And it doesn’t work. My hands are damp around the glass. My heart is racing like it might explode.
I’ve got a phone now. It’s this little one that flips open. I pull it out of my pocket and check the time, but it’s not late.
I drink the glass in a few swallows. Makes me warmer. Heavier. Sort of slower. I like slower. I look up and down the dark hall. It’s a worker hall—thin and narrow.
I close my eyes and let my head lean back against the wall, let my lungs fill up with air.
I’m okay.
Soren needs me. And my mother needs me. Things with her have only gotten worse.
The wine is like a blanket. Now I understand. Sometimes you need a blanket.
I know where they’re playing cards. I know why he asked me here; if I’m honest with myself, I know.
And I can do it. I’ll be twenty-one soon. Definitely not a kid now.
I feel warmer. Okay.
I go back out through the kitchen. Leo’s in there. I waggle my eyebrows at him, and he smiles with his brown eye and his blue eye. There’s a girl beside him, smiling at him as he smiles. Short girl, blonde braid, big tits. I make a note to tell him later.
I step into the hall. It’s not that night. Everything is different. Everything is okay. But it’s like a joke. It’s all a bad joke. Because that’s when I see her.
2
Elise
I look at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. It’s got a thick, gold frame that makes me feel as if I’m in a portrait. Me, standing alone in this lush, dark parlor. Me, with my hair cascading down my back, feeling pretty in my red satin gown. It’s one with a mermaid bottom—delicate ruffles that flip up, so you can see my pretty heels. I bought it just for this party.
Mom had a marathon in Greenwich tomorrow morning early, so I’m Dad’s stand-in date. He likes working with the charity. Even if it is a braggy Manhattan wealthy people thing, I think it’s good for him to do something that fulfills him.
I blink, then reapply my lipstick.
Now that Dad is playing cards with his friends, it’s time for me to spruce up and find Jace. In just a little while, we’re going to waltz around the ballroom, taking care to waltz right by his grandfather. Jace is pretty sure his father’s father is gay, but he married Mrs. Margaret, had three kids, and went full homophobic jerkwad. Jace is at Georgetown—he’s learning how to run the family business—but he came home to dance with me tonight. It was my idea—after he came out to me last month.
I flex my left arm, wondering if anyone will notice my new tattoo while we’re twirling around the crowded ballroom. In the coat room—not the mob-front coat room that’s not a coat room, but the real coatroom—I have a shawl. But it looks like my adorable smiling salamander won’t show too much. It’s my second little inky thing—gotten about a year after the adorable glass of lemonade just above my ankle on the inside of my lower calf. Lemonade from lemons. Salamanders for the regrown limbs.
With a final glance at myself, I walk quickly out of the parlor, feeling ready for whatever comes my way.
But not what’s right in front of me. It’s like a joke. One the universe just won’t quit playing. I’ve seen him two times…since, so at least this time, I’m able to brace myself for the pure bolt of adrenaline I get. It’s a wash of tingling sweat that leaves me ice cold in its wake.
My heart throbs as my body goes weak. I feel like I’m on the centrifuge ride at Coney Island: pinned to the wall, incapacitated as I drink him in, aching as he moves through me like poison.
He’s moving from the dining area into this narrow hallway, looking handsome in a tailored tux. He looks bigger.
Breathe.
He’s in front of me—less than twenty feet away. I can see his shoulders and his back and hips. His hair is short, but it looks good. A good cut. My eyes tra
ce his nape, then down the muscle of his back. I notice the quality of fabric that strains to fit his shoulders.
He looks like he fits right in here. My legs stop moving. I suck air into my lungs, my gaze still locked onto him. Older Luca. My eyes keep getting caught on the crisp white collar of his dress shirt. It’s peeking out from beneath his black coat. I think about my fingers on buttons—
No.
The way his neck and shoulders—
Don’t look at his shoulders.
I watch someone fall in step behind him. It’s a shorter guy with curling blond hair, wearing a dress shirt and charcoal pants. Luca turns, angling himself toward the new guy, and I catch a glimpse of his profile as his lips curve into a smile.
His jaw looks stronger now, more chiseled.
In an alcove to my right, I spot a table with a candle and champagne flutes. I take a cool glass in my hot hand, watching as his form shrinks with the distance spreading out between us, watching as the dark hall swallows him.
He’s walking away, walking like I’m not behind him. Like he wasn’t ever mine.
I start walking, too. I’m moving toward him, each stride longer than the last as blood booms in my ears. My heart is racing, and I’m hot. So hot, I feel like my body’s flickering, growing brighter with each step.
