Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

“Luca?” It’s Soren, and right off, I know something is wrong.

“What’s up, brother?”

“There’s a problem.”

I take a step back toward the elevator, cup my hand around the phone’s mouthpiece. “You gonna tell me now or later?”

“I’m outside.”

Fuck.

I tell Ingrid I’ll be back and take the stairs down, trying to move quickly without looking like I’m in a hurry. When you’re the don, you can’t look like you’re in a hurry. That’s a real rule.

When I approach my car, I find my brother in the passenger seat, looking down at his phone. Seconds feel like minutes as I pull the door open and sink into my leather seat.

“Soren. What’s up, man?”

“Your ex-girlfriend has specifics on where we’re getting the H. As well as information on the pink ops, which—if the files on her computer are an indication—was obtained from the same FBI agent Aren has been fucking. There was a meeting yesterday, and a committee under her umbrella discussed consulting with the FBI about the ops, and planning to move later on the H.”

I blink slowly, comprehending. “Fucking Aren. He’s turncoating, squealing to that FBI fuck buddy of his.” I shake my head. “What the hell.”

“Anyone who deals in weapons like that shit he does has got real problems. Always said it,” Soren offers.

I suck air in through my nose and let it out more slowly. Then I nod.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right about that.” I nod again, feeling numb.

“What she has, about the H, is aimed right at you and Alesso. Like Aren sold out both of you specifically.”

“I’m sure he did.” That fucking traitor. “What the fuck.”25LucaJULYShe must have held back the first part of summer. Maybe she ran somewhere else outside her home gym—but I’m pretty sure she didn’t. I’ve got a camera in the hall just outside her door, and I don’t see her leaving in her running gear on weekends. Or haven’t until today.

They say no good deed goes unpunished, and of course, that’s true. Keeping her safe is a priority—even more so since I found out Aren is a fucking rat—so I’m not halting my efforts until her term as district attorney is over. But the punishment is severe.

I try not to be, but I can’t help being…obsessive. I enjoy watching her leave for work—the little pensive looks on her face as she stands before the elevator, or the dreamy smiles on days she’s jamming to whatever’s in her earbuds. She’s knockout gorgeous, even in starched pantsuits and thick, tweedy dresses. Actually, I think she’s even hotter dressed for work than she would be in plainclothes.

That someone like Elise is in the D.A.’s office, applying her kind heart to what must be all manner of fucked-up shit, makes me happy in a way that’s deep and real.

That I can watch her as she comes and goes—an idea I got from her tree cam, that I can see her laughing with friends, frowning as she hauls her groceries, fumbling with her door key…it’s what I live for. Even as I know she had the tree cam pulled out of my yard a while back. Even as I heard her once, about a week ago, tell someone on the phone she looked forward to getting dinner again. Even as I know for sure she’ll move on.

She and Jace will get divorced at some point; Max said Jace had lost control of his family’s company and fled to Italy. Fucking sad, and I’m ashamed how much I love that he’s not at her place any longer.

I’m pathetic, and that point is driven home as I sit on a bench across the street from where she stops to stretch before she heads into the park. It’s a temperate morning—seventy-nine and breezy—with smells of breakfast in the air, although it’s dark and nothing’s open quite yet.

To get here on time, I had to leave my house before I even knew if she’d go for an outdoor run. Logic was against it, since she hasn’t in a long time, but sometimes on a Saturday or Sunday, I’ll drive through the tunnel or take the train, and I’ll run and watch my phone—which has an app with a link to the Elise cam—to see if she’s going to join me. It’s fucking stupid, and I kind of hate myself for keeping on with the effort.

More pathetic: when I see her walking toward her little stretching bench, I feel my heart kick like it’s starting back up.

Fuck. I take a long, slow breath and let it out. And then she’s stretching. I can’t see well, but in the lamplight, it looks like she’s wearing pale running shorts and a darker sleeveless shirt.

She’s always been cautious, looking around non-stop, but this time I think her gaze lingers on my side of the street, like she can sense my gaze hugging her. Which makes me grin.