Not family. Not friends. Not women. Nobody. Until her. A bitter laugh escaped me. Trust Aurora Ventura to walk into my life and start uncovering things I spent years burying.
I stood. Walked toward the bar. Poured myself whiskey. Didn't drink it. Just stared into the glass. The estate was quiet now. Not peaceful. Never peaceful. Just waiting, like the whole world was holding its breath.
I leaned one hand against the desk. Closed my eyes. And saw Angelo. Laughing. Alive. Fucking impossible. The memory hit so hard my chest tightened.
"We're going to die."
Angelo looked up from his cards. "This again?"
"Yes, again."
He sighed dramatically. "You're incredibly negative."
"We're being shot at,” I pointed out. "That's not negative. That's observational."
Bullets punched through the walls around us. Plaster exploded. Men shouted downstairs. The warehouse was actively on fire. And somehow my twin was sitting on a crate playing cards. I hated him. Deeply. Passionately. Violently.
"You are a psychopath,” I reminded him.
"I learned from the best,” he winked. He definitely didn’t mean me. And if he meant our father, that terrified the shit out of me.
I threw a card at his head. He grinned. God. That grin. The exact same grin we'd shared since childhood. The grin that got us expelled from schools. Started fights. Ruined family dinners. Terrified grown men. The grin that made us look so identical our mother used to threaten to tattoo our names on our foreheads.
Angelo caught the card. Looked at it. Then looked at me. "You suck at poker."
"We're literally under attack,” I reminded him again. “I’m trying to live through another one of your terrible ideas.”
"You can suck at multiple things simultaneously,” he grinned.
I hated him. So much. The memory shifted. Changed. Another year. Another city. Another night.
Me sitting behind this same desk. Angelo sprawled across the couch. Drinking whiskey I paid for. Making himself comfortable in my office. Again.
"I think it’s time we take over,” he told me. My stomach dropped. Not because I cared. Because I knew Angelo. And Angelo only made that face when disaster was approaching.
"What did you do?" I accused him.
His smile widened. Terrible.
"I gave Chiara Ventura my business card,” he winked.
I stared. Then started laughing. Hard. Genuinely. Tears-in-my-eyes laughing. Angelo looked offended. "Fuck you. It’s not for me.”
“I figured,” I scoffed. “You don't even know how feelings work."
He threw a coaster at my head. I dodged. The coaster shattered against the wall.
"One day," Angelo announced dramatically, "you're going to meet a woman, just like our cousin."
“Yeah, I’ve met enough, thanks,” I muttered.
His grin widened. "Then she'll ruin your life. You’ll be as whipped as the almighty Serpent."
I pointed toward the door. "Leave."
"You'll become pathetic and unimportant." He said, picking himself up. "You'll stare at her like an idiot instead of focusing on the real shit. Like pleasing our father. You think I’ll marry for love? Fuck no."
"Leave,” I hissed again.
