“Question for you.”His words are hesitant and uncertain, unlike his usual bold confidence.“Do you have a thing for Reece?”
Irritation swarms in my gut, and I snap, “Do you have a thing for Ethan?” It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been teased about my relationship with my partner.
“Wow,” he draws out. “Defensive much? We’re blood. Not the same.”
“Both questions are equally stupid.” All the noise and action add to my agitation, and I can’t concentrate. I get killed repeatedly. “You barely know him.”
“Ethan’s father took the fall for the family. We wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Enzo.”
“Likewise, Reece saved my life.”
My last therapist concluded Reece was an unhealthy security blanket. She said I was attached to the safety he presented, enabling my avoidance and isolation. She suggested I make aclean break and live independently. I hacked her computer, deleted my patient files, and never returned.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a thing for him.”
I roll my eyes, although he can’t see it. “I don’t. Besides, what’s it matter?”
“I was going to invite you over.”
My heart rate skyrockets, but I haven’t a clue why. My mind is drawing a blank. “For what?”
Neither of us moves onscreen, the game forgotten.
“I’ve seen you staring at me.”
His voice is deeper, flirtatious, and I feel hot all over, my palms sweaty.
“What about Dante?” What am I asking and why am I whispering?
“What about him? You don’t stare at him.”
“Because I’m afraid he’ll murder me. You’re carbon copies. If I find one of you attractive, it’s impossible not to find the other attractive. It’s a scientific fact.”
“You’re the weirdest person I know.” He chuckles. It’s affectionate, not cruel, but still…
Perhaps that therapist was right. I need to live my own life, tonight, underground, far from LA. “Okay, well, goodnight.”
Before I remove my headset and disappear, never to be seen again, he says, “Piccino, come over to the pool house, or we’re coming to get you. Your choice.”
Chapter 9
Dante
The day my twin finds love is the day I no longer exist. That sounds dramatic, but he’s my other half, and I don’t foresee a worthwhile life without him. Luckily, most people are shit and don’t deserve to glance his way.
A few years ago, Desi fell hard for a girl we met while working security at a club. I hated her, saw right through her lies and phony act. Late one night, we caught her in the back office, screwing the manager. She used Desi, was climbing her way to the top—or so she thought. Little did she know, our family owned the entire building, including the club.
I wanted to murder them both. My twin only wanted to escape. He got drunk and passed out in my room after playing video games for hours. He laughed through his pain, but I felt it, sharp and agonizing, every time I looked at him.
While he was out cold, I killed them anyhow; drove a knife through their rib cages and dumped their bodies in the Adirondack mountains. He never asked where they were or why they hadn’t returned to work. He knew.
Desi is too pure for this world. He smiles at strangers and engages them in conversation if they appear sad. He calls our mom almost daily. No matter how rough it gets, he loves life.
He has no filter; he says whatever is on his mind. He flirts with everybody, and I meaneverybody. He enjoys sex, but he no longer dates or becomes attached.
And he hasnevercalled anyone ‘piccino,’ a term of endearment meaning ‘little one’ that our grandma gave us before she switched to ‘polpetto,’ or ‘meatball,’ which was more fitting.
Twenty-six-year-old Lucas Parker-Mercer, aka Charlie, is just the type who’d capture my brother’s interest: an awkward, wounded, dependent, genius-hero who struggles socially, resists change, and desperately needs a friend. In Desi’s eyes, he’ssafe.
