Dark Captor (Dark Syndicate 2)

Chapter Six

Tristan

“Hi,” Candace beams as I walk into the kitchen.

“Hey,” I answer backing off my jacket and slinging it over the chair. “It smells like heaven in here.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like the smell.” Her smile widens and she adds a dash of basil to the tomato sauce she’s making. “I thought I’d cook you boys something nice.”

I wanted to cook tonight because she’s been doing it every night this week. That’s why I got back a little early, deciding I’d cut my stake out short. There’s not much I can do in the evenings besides sit in my car and watch the house.

I’ve been watching the house the last few days to see if anymore guards would be coming. There are a few higher skilled members of the Circle of Shadows that could arrive. I want to have a heads up if that happens.

So far, it’s just been Dmitri and the other guard who seems to be the constant. At night Isabella has three more guards who keep watch outside the house.

“How about I help you cook?” I offer.

She shakes her head. “No. Tristan, you know these types of chores make me feel useful in some way.”

I lean against the counter and look at her with her hair in that fishtail braid. I remember her having her hair like that all the time when we were kids.

“You are useful in many ways.” I’m sure it’s a thing she’s heard several times, but she doesn’t believe it.

“Thank you for saying that. Means a lot.”

Her eyes twinkle and I hope the lightness means she’s getting better. I don’t know what happens to a person when they face true fear and can’t make it back to how they were before. What I know is it screws with who they’re supposed to become.

When she was fifteen her parents were killed right in front of her and she would have died too if Massimo hadn’t saved her. It happened during the time we were poor, but Pa took her in and looked after her the same way her parents looked after us.

Pa got Candace to have therapy, but I don’t know if it helped. I’d say it probably didn’t, or maybe it did in a way I can’t see.

“I like cooking for you guys. At least I know you’re having something healthy,” she says with a nod. “Or eating. Massimo just works all the time, and I can tell he misses Emelia.”

“Yeah.” She’s right. “Is he upstairs?”

“Yes, and on the phone. Sounded like he was talking to the Romanov brothers. I can always tell. He sounds wary when he speaks to them.”

“I picked that up too.” I smirk.

“I know you did. Are … you okay?” she asks nervously and holds my gaze.

I tap the top of her head the way I used to when she was little. She’s not that girl anymore though. Candace is now twenty-six and I’m thirty.

We’re a long way from being those kids who played in the meadows of Stormy Creek. We’ve been through life and it dealt us a cruel hand.

“I’m here, principessa,” I answer, and she gives me a kind smile. That’s what I used to call her.

“Tristan. I’m not a principessa anymore.” At least she’s laughing.

“You are,” I insist.

“Thank you. You do know calling me principessa isn’t the answer I’m looking for though right?”

“I know. Don’t worry about me,” I answer giving her a wink. She knows not to push. People like us who’ve been touched by the darkness of our world have an unspoken understanding between them. But just to be on the safe side I think of something to change the subject. I really don’t want to talk about how I am. “Is it really me you want to find out about, or is there another D’Agostino brother?”

Her cheeks flush. “Dominic isn’t…” her voice trails off.

“What? You’ve liked him for a lifetime Candace Ricci.”