Twisted

by Knight, Natasha

  “What?”

  “On the island.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” he says, the look in his eyes different. “How did you draw it?”

  I just shake my head, trying to remember. It was just something I saw in my head.

  “Did your sister tell you about it?”

  “No. She doesn’t talk about the island. Never has.”

  He shifts his gaze back to it.

  “It’s coincidence. Just an angel. That’s all,” I say.

  But it’s not. I know it. He knows it.

  Like the ghosts of the dead Willow Girls hiding in the shadows of our library. Like the wraith-like smudges haunting the edges the tattoo on his chest.

  “There’s no such thing as coincidence, Amelia.”

  14

  Amelia

  Gregory and Laura talk for a few minutes as I put my coat on. I can’t understand what they’re saying but I see how his face hardens. It’s a brief conversation, though, and a few minutes later, we’re walking out the door.

  He makes two calls but both are in Italian so I can’t follow. After that, he’s discussing something with Matteo, and I don’t think they’re arguing but Gregory seems agitated. At one point, he even takes a cigarette from Matteo and cracks the window open to smoke it.

  I’m tired so I lean my head back against the seat and look out the window. My shoulder feels tender and it’s almost like the buzz of the needle is still vibrating through me.

  By the time we get back to the house it’s almost midnight and I’ve nodded off. I’m groggy for a moment when I wake and anxious to see the tattoo again, study it more closely. But I know something’s wrong the moment we pull in through the gates.

  “Fuck,” Gregory mutters.

  Someone’s here. Three cars are parked along the circular drive around the broken-down fountain. They’re black sedans, exact replicas of each other, with dark-tinted windows.

  Tires crunch gravel as we slow and Gregory says something to Matteo, then turns to me.

  “You’ll go directly upstairs, understand?”

  But I’m looking at the two men standing sentry on the steps leading up to the portico. Glancing at the light of a cigarette as another smokes along the kitchen entrance.

  “What’s happening?” I ask. “Who are they?”

  He opens my door, takes my arm harder than he needs to and pulls me out. “It’s too late to hide you. You’ll go directly up to your room and you’ll stay there until I come for you, am I clear?”

  I look up at him and he doesn’t look scared, just pissed off.

  “I don’t have a room,” I stay stupidly.

  “Christ.”

  Someone clears their throat and Gregory walks me toward the house. He eyes each of the two men standing on his front step, the third who opens his front door.

  I look too, notice they’re all dressed in dark suits. Notice that none meets our eyes.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper.

  He squeezes my arm as we step inside, and Matteo is right behind us. Someone is talking, Irina’s voice I recognize, the man’s I do not. They’re speaking in Italian and the man laughs heartily.

  Gregory doesn’t let me go, not for a second as he leads me into the house and toward the stairs, but they’re visible to both the living and dining rooms so before he can rush me up, which I know is what he wants to do. The man who is talking to Irina stands from his crouched position at the fireplace, poker in hand, and turns to us.

  He’s tall, as tall as Gregory, and built roughly the same and he’s wearing a dark suit too, but his is different than the others.

  No, that’s not it.

  He just wears his differently.

  His eyes scan me, taking me in from head to toe, pausing on the tightening grip Gregory has on my arm. He seems to takes a full minute before shifting his gaze to Gregory.

  “Gregory,” he says, smiling broadly, a smile that makes his face dimple on one side and that combined with his light hazel eyes, it makes him appear almost boyish and it’s disarming because I know this man, he’s no boy. I wonder if he ever was.

  “Stefan,” Gregory says, his voice calm and controlled and I look up at him and think he, like this man, is dangerous, and for some reason, this knowledge, it makes me feel safer.

  I look around, count the men I can see. Three. Three inside, three outside. And I can hear more upstairs.

  “I heard you were back. Wanted to drop in and say hello.”

  “All the way from Palermo?”

  The man, Stefan, gives him that smile again as he sets the poker down, brushes off his hands and shifts his gaze to me.

  I notice Irina standing near the fireplace, her face paler than usual, eyes on Matteo.

  Stefan walks toward us, openly lets his gaze slide over me.

  I find myself drawing closer to Gregory as he shifts me slightly behind him.

  “You have company,” Stefan says.

  “She was just going to bed,” Gregory says.

  I glance up at him and his eyes are hard, and I don’t think he’s blinked as he watches the other man’s approach.

  “That’s too bad,” Stefan says.

  “Matteo,” Gregory calls out.

  Matteo is at his side in an instant and Gregory hands me over to him. “Take Amelia upstairs.”

  Stefan holds up his hand and a man steps forward to block our path.

  “Amelia,” he says like he’s tasting my name and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  He extends his hand, and when I don’t move, he reaches to take one of mine and holds it in both of his and I look down and think how mine has all but disappeared, his are so big.

  “Perhaps next time we’ll have a few more minutes before your bedtime,” Stefan says.

  After what feels like forever, he releases me, and Matteo walks me hurriedly up the stairs. When I glance back, the two men are still standing there, Stefan watching me, Gregory watching him.

  “Who are they?” I ask Matteo as he rushes me down the hall and into Gregory’s room.

  “Mafia,” he says, opening the bedroom door, still not releasing me until he checks the room to make sure it’s empty.

  “Mafia?”

  But by the time I ask it, he’s out in the hallway, reaching around inside to take the key and when the door closes, I hear the lock turn and once again, I’m locked in.

  15

  Gregory

  After my first visit to the tattoo parlor, I knew it wouldn’t be long before Stefan Sabbioni showed up at my door.

  I study him.

  He watches Amelia go, waits until she’s out of sight to shift his gaze back to me.

  “I like what you’ve done with the house,” he says. He turns, walks into the living room, takes a seat like it’s his house, not mine.

  “I’m going to guess you already gave yourself a tour or I’d offer,” I deadpan, taking the other seat.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, and I was curious.”

  I just give him a half smile.

  “It’s a beautiful house. I’m glad Villa de Rossi has some new life in it.” He doesn’t give a shit about the house. “Amelia, was it?” he asks. “Pretty girl.”

  I don’t answer. I don’t like her name on his lips.

  Irina, ever attentive, appears at my side with an empty glass. I notice how her hands tremble.

  Stefan picks up the bottle of whiskey on the table between the two chairs. I guess he’s helped himself to my whiskey too.

  He pours me a glass. “I made myself at home.”

  “I see that.”

  He drinks his whiskey and I do the same, doing quick math, counting the half dozen men he’s brought with him.

  “Didn’t realize you were able to leave Sicily these days,” I comment.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “My friends look the other way.”

  I’ve known Stefan Sabbion
i ever since I can remember. He’s a few years older than I am and our families have worked together in the past. He’s one of four sons, of whom only he and his brother, Antonio, are still living as far as I’m aware. Several years ago, Antonio, the first-born and the one poised to take over the business, betrayed the family. He turned state’s witness for the U.S.

  Stefan’s father was subsequently arrested and extradited. He never did make it to trial, though. He was murdered in prison.

  Stefan took over the Sabbioni family after his father’s arrest and extradition, but the family—and the American operation especially—had been severely weakened by his brother’s betrayal.

  For as long as I can remember, our families had had an understanding. Our business interests ran and still do run parallel in some cases, but they don’t intersect. We’re not the mafia.

  I’m surprised to see Stefan here, outside of Sicily. It’s worrying because it means he’s regained some of their old power. Those friends who are looking the other way must be friends in high places because he’s on a sort of house arrest. He’s free to move about in Sicily. Free to operate there. But the rest of Italy is off limits.

  Or so it was.

  “What are you doing here, Stefan?”

  He studies me. “Right to business with you.”

  “It’s late.”

  “I imagine you want to get upstairs to your Amelia.”

  He winks like we’re old friends. We’re not.

  I raise my eyebrows and wait.

  He drinks a sip of his whiskey. “I like this brand,” he says. “Used to be my brother’s favorite too.”

  “Did it?” I could give a fuck.

  “But who knows if he even drinks the stuff anymore.”

  “How can I help you, Stefan?”

  He looks at me, the smile vanishing from his face, showing the hard man beneath.

  “I have some business with Lucinda.”

  “Lucinda?” I ask, not having to feign ignorance because I haven’t had contact with my mother in months. I know the deal Sebastian struck with her, but she and I, we aren’t exactly close, never were, not even on the island. As far as I know or care, she’s far, far away, and she can stay that way.

  “She has something that belongs to me.”

  “And you either think she’s here or that I know where she is which is why I assume you’re here. Why you gave yourself a tour of my house.”

  “Well, that was secondary. I have always been curious about Villa de Rossi. Tell me, is it really haunted?”

  “Only if you believe in ghosts.”

  He chuckles and we drink our whiskey, each of us watching the other. When he’s emptied his glass, he sets it down and leans back in his chair.

  “Lucinda, Lucinda,” he chimes. “Any idea where I can find her?”

  “My mother and I don’t keep in touch. I don’t even know which continent she’s on.”

  “Really? Strange because I heard she’s in town somewhere.”

  “Is she?”

  “I assumed with you being back that she’d be here.”

  “You know what they say about making assumptions.”

  “Hmm,” he pauses, nods his head like he gets my meaning. “She told me about Sebastian sending her away.”

  “She came to see you?” This surprises me. Please tell me Lucinda wasn’t stupid enough to go to Stefan Sabbioni for help against Sebastian.

  “Yes. She needed some help.”

  Fuck.

  “Help with?” I ask, this time not ignorant of what she’d have needed his help with.

  “There’s no love lost between your mother and brother, is there?”

  “You’re losing me, Stefan,” I say, checking my watch.

  “She wanted me to punish Sebastian.”

  “Now that does sound like her.”

  “I refused, of course. He’s head of your family, after all. I respect that.”

  “We have no head of family.” It’s hard to keep my irritation at his statement out of my voice. “We’re not the mafia.”

  “Well, you understand my meaning.” He’s taunting me. We both fucking know it. Neither he nor I are first-born, he just got lucky, if you can call it that.

  “Let’s get back to why you’re here.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t been in touch with her for so long. It’s no way for a son to treat his mother. We’re Italian. Family first.”

  “Family is complicated. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And sometimes they fuck you, don’t they?” His face hardens. “You and I have that in common,” he says, studying me. “Our brothers are—or were—our rivals.”

  Just how much does this asshole know about me and my brother?

  He finishes his drink, picks up the bottle. “May I?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He refills his glass, sits back to watch me as he drinks.

  “You know in our line of work, things are all very simple. A snitch loses his tongue, a thief, his hand. Or in this case, her sticky fingers.”

  Fuck.

  “A traitor loses his or her life.”

  What the fuck did my mother do?

  “Riddles, Stefan. Like I said, we’re not the fucking mafia.”

  “I’ll get to the point. Lucinda took something that belongs to me. And an act like this, after my hospitality,” he says, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but she owes me more than I’ve already taken.”

  More than I’ve already taken.

  “Well, you saw for yourself she’s not here. My mother and I aren’t close.”

  “She mentioned that too, but in times like this, it’s family one comes to for help. Even when that mother has turned against her own blood.”

  “I really can’t help you, Stefan.”

  He swallows the rest of his whiskey, sighs.

  “Amelia’s lovely,” he says. “You like her. I can see.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “I could hold on to her for you. Just until you mend bridges with your mother. While she’s in town and all.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not, Gregory,” he says, patting my arm. “We’re old friends. I’m no threat to my friends.”

  “That’s good because I don’t take too kindly to threats.” I check my watch again. “It’s getting late.”

  “Why don’t you and Amelia come by tomorrow. When it’s not so late. I’m having a small party.”

  “We’re busy.”

  “That’s too bad. I’d love to see her again.”

  I’m going to fucking kill him.

  He grins.

  I stand.

  He does the same.

  He’s still wearing his coat and reaches into his pocket to take out his gloves. He takes his time putting them on and there’s a menace to the act.

  “If you change your mind about dinner or you happen to be in touch with your mother, I’ll be at my uncle’s house. You remember the address?”

  I walk to the foyer.

  I open the door for him to leave, but he takes his time, looking at everything as he makes his way to the foyer.

  “Safe travels, Stefan. It’s dangerous out there.”

  His expression hardens.

  “What with all the ice,” I add.

  “I was thinking maybe she’d gone back to Philadelphia. Ethan’s there, isn’t he?” he asks.

  I shake my head, let out a long breath.

  “Go back home to Sicily, Stefan. Get a handle on your family. Maybe find your brother. Figure out who put the hit on your father. Because right now, you’re not as powerful as you think. You have enemies both inside and outside your family.”

  His eyes turn icy, but I don’t care.

  “Don’t fuck with me. Don’t threaten me. You don’t scare me,” I say.

  His expression remains level. I haven’t ruffled him, but I didn’t expect to.

  “Al
ways a pleasure dealing with the Scafoni brothers,” he says, extending his hand.

  I take it, but we don’t shake. It’s a stare down.

  We were never friends, but we were also never enemies.

  Tonight, that’s changed.

  16

  Amelia

  I back away from the door as the lock turns and Gregory enters. From the look on his face, he’s worried.

  He comes inside, closes the door, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  “Fuck.”

  “Who is he?” I ask.

  He rubs his face, looks at me. “No one.”

  “Well, he’s someone,” I say. “Matteo told me he’s part of the mafia.”

  “Matteo talks too much.” He steps closer, undoes the top buttons of my blouse and turns me so my back is to him. “Let’s get a look at this.”

  When I draw back, he doesn’t let go and I hear the tear of fabric.

  “Wait.”

  He’s walking me into the bathroom.

  “Wait,” I push.

  He stops, impatience on his face.

  “Who is he?”

  “Stefan Sabbioni. And he’s not part of the mafia. He’s the head of it.”

  It takes me a minute to process. “What does he want with you?”

  “Christ.” He grips me harder, walks me backward into the bathroom, only releases me once we’re inside. “Get undressed.” He turns on the taps in the bath, tests the temperature of the water then dries his hands on a towel.

  “I don’t want a bath,” I say.

  “I need to think.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Just get in the bath, Amelia.” When I don’t move, he takes my shoulders, gives a squeeze. It’s almost tender.

  Almost.

  “Please get in the goddamned bath,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Okay.”

  He nods and I think it’s his thanks.

  I strip off my clothes while he stands there watching me, eyes fixed on me, not quite hungry but possessive. When I’m naked, I step into the tub and sit in the warm water.

  Once the tub is full, he switches off the water and takes a bar of soap out of the cabinet under the sink.