Blood & Lies (A Twisted Duet Book 1)

by Bella J

  The second Vico walked away, my body gave in and the cuffs around my wrists were the only things keeping me from collapsing to the ground. My body couldn’t handle the strain for a second longer. And when Castello’s burning touch replaced Vico’s venomous stroke, my body immediately responded with a deep-rooted lust that had no place inside me.

  The double doors of the dining hall got shoved open, and every eye turned in the direction. The silence that settled over the room of men was deafening, my spine chilling as apprehension grabbed ahold of me.

  A woman, probably in her fifties, dressed in a black dress, wearing a silver crucifix around her neck came walking in. Dark curls hung around her shoulders, and the way she walked screamed sophistication, confidence, and determination. The only problem was her determination seemed to be aimed at me as her dark gaze was fixed on mine with every step she took. She didn’t look left or right, never acknowledging any of the guests. Her only goal seemed to be reaching me, and that made my skin crawl.

  “Miss Linscott. Finally we meet.”

  “Who are you?”

  Her reply was a swift, hard palm to my cheek. I never saw it coming. I only felt the burn, the sting…the utter humiliation.

  “Possa tu Bruciare all’inferno.” May you burn in Hell.

  The animosity, loathing, and disgust in her words slammed against my chest. And as her dark eyes glared at me, revulsion swirled in them and made me hyper aware of the fact that this woman was fueled by her hate…hate for me.

  “You took my son away from me, and for that you will suffer eternal Hell and damnation.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Another slap to the face cut off my words, ripping more tears from my body. Fire burned my cheek, trepidation charred my insides.

  “You deserve every ounce of the wrath Castello will rain down upon you. And I look forward to seeing you suffer.” Her words were gritted between clenched teeth, the veins in her neck protruding as disdain flowed through her veins.

  I didn’t dare say another word. There was the same evil darkness in her that I saw in Vico. Castello was dark too, but his was different. It’s like he tried to fight his where this woman and Vico embraced it, fed it…lived it.

  She lifted her arm again, but this time a glint of silver flashed under the light. I gasped when I felt the blade against the skin of my neck, and all I could do was close my eyes and hold my breath, anticipating the slicing of flesh.

  “Madre!”

  The blade pierced my skin, but before I even registered the pain the knife was gone. The first thing I did was inhale to see if I could still breathe. Thank God the air filled my lungs, cooling the fire of fear in my chest.

  When I opened my eyes I saw Castello gripping the woman’s wrist with the knife still in her hand.

  “Non ancora.” Not yet.

  He dropped her hand and eased her back by putting him between me and her.

  The woman glowered at him. “Quando?” When?

  “Presto, Madre. Presto.”

  It was his mother. The woman who almost slit my throat was Castello’s mother…Carlo’s mother. Oh my God. The entire fucking Fattore family hated me, wanted to see me dead. This entire time I had a slither of hope that somehow I might be able to survive this. But now, with all these glaring eyes filled with hate staring at me, I wasn’t so sure. How could I survive all their hate, all their need for revenge?

  Castello’s mother lowered her knife and lifted her chin. “Mi fido figlio.”

  He lowered his head in acknowledgement, in respect, then waited patiently for her to walk away.

  I took a deep breath. “You said soon.”

  He turned. “Excuse me?”

  “You said soon when she asked when. Am I correct in assuming that she meant when as in when you’ll finally slit my throat, or drive that knife through my heart?”

  A dark brow arched as he stared at me. “You speak Italian?”

  It wasn’t my intention to expose the one advantage I had, the fact that I could understand them without them knowing. But I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know. I needed to know if my death would come sooner than I thought—than I hoped.

  He stepped closer, eyes etched on mine. “Hai mentito.” You lied.

  “Io no. Solo che non ti ho detto.” I didn’t. I just didn’t tell you.

  “Avresti dovuto dirmelo.” You should have told me.

  “Perché? Si ha intenzione di uccidere me.” Why? You plan on killing me.

  A smile crept up at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze dropped to my neck. When he lifted his hand, touching the spot where his mother’s knife had nicked me, I shivered, never taking my eyes off him.

  “You like pain.” He kept on staring at the cut on my neck, his finger still softly touching my flesh.

  I snorted. “What kind of person likes pain?”

  “The kind of person who craves the rush of being forced toward the edge.” He lifted his hand, his thumb carrying a tiny drop of blood. “The kind of person who desires to be pushed past her own limits.”

  The low hum of dark, sexual allure that hung around his every word sent a wave of electricity down my spine—the way he had managed to sum up my entire past in two sentences boggled my mind.

  Crave the rush of being forced to the edge…desires to be pushed past her limits.

  That was me. That was my deepest, darkest desire for almost my entire adult life—to have someone push my body, force me to go beyond what I thought I was capable of. Yet I never allowed myself to embrace that part of me, never sought out the kind of person who would be able to satisfy that need deep within me—which is why I ended up giving it to myself, by slicing through my own skin.

  “You don’t know me,” was all I could say between clenched teeth.

  “Oh, but I do, little mouse.” His palm touched my cheek, and he touched my lips with his thumb, staining my mouth with my own blood. “The scars on your thighs speak volumes.”

  Even though my mind urged me to jerk away from his touch, my body refused. The way his touch ignited a fire across my skin was too enticing, and I silently cursed my own fucking body for liking it.

  He leaned closer. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Linscott.”

  When his palm left my cheek, I shuddered. The thought of being alone again, not having him close terrified me.

  “No, please. Wait.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  He gave me a sideway glance before turning back toward me. “Something I can do for you, Miss Linscott?”

  “Please…don’t…don’t leave me alone.” The words burned the inside of my mouth, the fact that I was begging my captor not to leave. But I couldn’t let him walk away again, leaving me at the mercy of all the men around me, at the mercy of Vico.

  A wicked grin spread along his face, the five o’clock shadow he had when I saw him the first time now a slightly longer, neatly trimmed beard.

  “You think you’re safer with me?”

  “No…yes…I don’t know.”

  A few swift steps and he was right in front of me again, his eyes beaming down with amusement. This close, right here, right now the resemblance between him and Carlo momentarily took my breath away. The only thing tearing them apart was the scar around Castello’s eye, adding more danger, more treacherous substance to the already nerve-racking intimidation that seemed to reach for the wretched decadence hidden deep within my soul. There was also the elongated pupil that seemed to demand my attention every time I looked into his eyes.

  “Which is it, Tatum? Yes, or no?”

  I struggled to think, my mind a battlefield of thoughts that had no place inside my mind in the first place. Thoughts of Carlo and the long nights we spent together. Then thoughts of Castello, wondering—no, knowing that he was the type of man who could give me what I’ve wanted for so long. But it was so fucked up. He wanted to hurt me, wanted to kill me, yet my body was starting to crave him. How was that even possible?

  Without warn
ing he reached out, grabbed my ass in the palm of his hand, squeezing hard, his fingers digging into my flesh before slowly moving his hand downward.

  With a jerk he pulled my leg up and cradled it between his arm and his hip. The desire that flared inside my core right at that second made me whimper, and made my body weep with desire.

  “Do you think you’re safer with me than with the rest of these men?”

  My body overruled my mind, and I answered a soft, subtle, “Yes.”

  He slanted his head to the side, his irises almost completely black. “Wrong answer.”

  And then there was fire. It scorched my skin as I felt the slice of a blade across my inner thigh. I winced, closing my eyes as the pain suddenly consumed every nerve. But then there was that familiar rush of relief, of life…of ecstasy—and a moan escaped me, loving the way my desire and the pain all came together in a blast of twisted pleasure.

  “Fuck,” he cursed, and I opened my eyes only to see him stare down at the tiny trace of blood easing out of the wound—a wound he inflicted with the silver razor he still held in his other hand.

  He cut me.

  Castello cut me…and I loved it.

  He looked up, and I saw the hunger that consumed him—the same hunger that now burned inside me, hankering for more.

  “You think you’re safer with me, Tatum…but you’re not. I’m the one you should stay away from, the monster you should fear.”

  The way he let go of my leg was as if touching me had caused him pain. Like he was the one who had been cut, and not me. He placed the rope back into my mouth and walked away.

  The wound on my thigh pulsed with a stinging ache, but it felt good, liberating, bringing my insides to life—and it felt even better knowing that Castello had been the one to inflict it.

  What kind of twisted, warped person was I? What was wrong with me, with my body for wanting more, for wanting him to not walk away from me? For him to rather come back…and do it again?

  12

  CASTELLO

  Even though I knew she would show up, I didn’t count on her hovering around the dining hall, glaring in Tatum’s direction every five minutes. In every goddamn conversation my mother took part in, she made her hatred for Tatum known through her disrespectful words. She made no secret about how she felt, how much she wanted Tatum’s corpse buried in our backyard so that she could stare at her grave every time she looked out her bedroom window. I shared my mother’s need for revenge. She missed her son. I missed my brother.

  “Have you made contact with her family yet?” My mother took a seat beside me.

  I cleared my throat. “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “A few more days.”

  “Do they know she’s missing?”

  I leaned back in my seat and snuck a glance in Tatum’s direction. “According to my informant, the family started to suspect something was amiss a few hours ago.”

  “Have they gone to the Police?”

  “Not yet. She works different shifts at the studio. She’s not supposed to start work for another two days. I suspect the Linscotts will take drastic action once they learn that she didn’t show up at work.”

  My mother nodded. “Good. Then their hell can begin. Then they’ll have a taste of what my life has been like the last few months.”

  I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the fact that my mother demanded all this information. This was my operation. She entrusted me with this task, so why was she prying?

  Uncle Gino watched us from across the room, observing like he always did. I always got the feeling that he didn’t like my mother very much. That and the fact that I heard him and my father bickering one day about how Uncle Gino thought my father was allowing her to manipulate him into doing things that were questionable—even for us. It was no secret that my mother was a strong, intelligent woman, but she always knew her place, always played the part—sometimes a little too well.

  I turned back to her. “Have you ever thought about Carlo and her?”

  She frowned. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Have you ever considered the fact that Carlo might have really loved her?”

  “Never. There is no way my son would fall for that woman. The thought alone is preposterous.”

  I placed my hand on the table, tapping lightly on the black covered tabletop. “Then why do you think he was with her in the first place?”

  She snorted. “I might idolize my children, Castello, but I am not naïve. I know that my sons are men, and men have needs. Tatum Linscott was just a way for those needs to be met.”

  I calculated her every word, studied her face. “So he used her for sex?”

  “What else? She is not worthy of the love Carlo was able to give, and he would have known that. There is no way it was more than sex for Carlo, and that’s the reason she and her family had him killed.” Her deathly stare moved toward Tatum once again. “She couldn’t handle the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That someone had used her in a way she deserves to be used.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “But you told me Carlo left her because he realized she was nothing more than a whore? If it was about sex, her being a whore wouldn’t have mattered to him.”

  “What does it matter, Castello?” She grabbed the crucifix around her neck and rubbed the silver between her fingers. “None of this matters now. He is dead, and so is your father. Your responsibility is to make sure that those guilty of taking their lives pay for what they have done. That woman needs to die. Every member of her family needs to suffer—just as we have suffered.”

  Every word my mother spoke was coated with sheer venom, like she hated Tatum enough to poison her with insults and slurs. And she had a way to make everyone around her feel her pain, feel her hatred, feel everything she’s feeling by using perfectly chosen words, body language and facial expressions to suck a person into her world, into her dilemma—which is probably why Uncle Gino thought her to be a master manipulator.

  I placed my hands in my lap. “Don’t you think you should call it a night, Madre?”

  “No. I’m fine. I want to be here.”

  “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around her. Your wounds are still to raw to face the demon that caused them.”

  She glanced around the room and sighed. “Perhaps you are right, mio figlio. I can feel her presence tainting my soul.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. My mother had always been a religious woman who believed in outside influences shaping our souls, either lifting our spirits or breaking it. Me, I never could decide on which side of the religious line drawn between good and evil I stood. It was too daunting to think that we didn’t have control over our spirits, our own souls, that mere meek individuals had the power to influence us. I preferred to think that our souls were free and took the shape they were destined to be, whether tainted by blood, greed, lust, or any other sin you can think of. So needless to say, I never shared my mother’s outlook on the topic of religion. Carlo did though. Carlo would sit next to her in church every Sunday, reciting psalms and taking part in mass. On occasion I would join them, but then I’d end up thinking it all was just an act, everyone attending church only doing so to keep up appearances. No one was without sin, yet everyone who sat there pretended that they were, when I knew for a fact that Mr. Terelli cheated on his wife every chance he got. And Mrs. Cassia, whose eyes hid behind the veil of her hat stared at all the young boys, her mind filled with perverted images of each and every one of them.

  Then there was Father Ginelli, the Priest, the shepherd supposed to lead his flock to eternal life, to save as many souls as he could. At night, when the darkness casted shadows over the city, he fucked every male prostitute he could find. So how could I sit there, searching for redemption and spiritual leadership when I was surrounded by sinners pretending to be saints? I couldn’t—which is why I stopped going to Sunday church, and started ignoring my mother’s backhanded remarks abo
ut my spirit and soul needing guidance.

  I would guide my own damn life, do with my spirit and soul as I pleased.

  I stood up and leaned over to give her a loving kiss on her forehead. “Go rest, Madre. Leave the family business to me. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know, Castello.” She placed her hand on mine, resting on her shoulder. “Your father would have been proud.”

  Her words spoke to the broken heart beating miserably inside my chest. Making my father proud wasn’t something I was able to do while he was alive. Hopefully I can do it now, in his death.

  With a heavy sigh I watched as my mother exited the dining hall. Letting her find peace, honoring her, and taking care of her was what my father would have wanted. Carlo, too. Which was why I couldn’t fail.

  Renewed determination filled the center of my belly, burning through my veins. I grabbed my newly filled glass and a knife, clinking to get everyone’s attention.

  Silence settled over the room, and eyes focused on me.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I know this is quite a somber issue we’re addressing here tonight, but nevertheless, it is what’s required of us as a family—and that’s what each and every one of you are. Family. Whether by blood, or by proven loyalty, we stand together and unite against those who have wronged us.” I turned my attention to Tatum hanging from the ceiling, her big fearful eyes focused on me. “Which in this case, is her.”

  Curses, profanities, and disrespectful sneers erupted her way. I started toward her, our gazes locked on one another. She swayed, trying to cower away, but the chains kept her in place, and she sucked in a breath when I stopped right in front of her.

  Her crystal blue eyes were clouded with fear, but I saw the way her pupils dilated the second she felt my breath on her lips. And there was no way I could have missed how she sucked in a breath when I touched her collarbone, slowly easing my fingertip between her breasts, down the middle. Something inside her liked my touch, I knew it by her slightly parted lips, and the way her body trembled under my touch.