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I tense, caught between wanting to protect Alexis from Scarlett’s jealous rages and not blow Alexis’s cover. Even though Scarlett thinks she is just my cousin, her irrational jealousy is flaring up dangerously.
I have to get Alexis out of here, away from Scarlett’s increasingly unhinged behavior. Keeping my expression neutral, I pull out my phone and send a discreet coded text to my driver to come around the back entrance immediately.
When I look back up at Alexis, the hurt and confusion are plain on her face. She searches my eyes, clearly wanting an explanation for why I’m seemingly discarding her. Steeling myself, I slip into my Mob Boss persona—cold and aloof.
“Maria,” I say coldly. “It’s time for you to leave. My driver will escort you out.”
Scarlett looks delighted at my brisk dismissal, smirking victoriously.
Moments later, my driver appears at Alexis’s side, giving a subtle nod. Scarlett waves a mocking goodbye as the driver leads a bewildered Alexis away.
But as she leaves, Alexis turns back, and the hurt, confused look on her face is like a punch to my gut. I force myself to remain stoic, but it takes every ounce of restraint.
The second she disappears from view, my icy mask cracks. My chest feels hollow with self-loathing. I had just so convincingly written off and dismissed Alexis to appease my psychotic ex.
But it’s all for her safety. If Scarlett figures out that “Maria” is actually Alexis Hartley, there’s no telling how far her jealous rage would take her. If she realizes I’m harboring their target right under their noses, she would turn Alexis over to her father in a heartbeat.
The consequences don’t bear thinking about. If The Brotherhood got their hands on Alexis, she would disappear forever, lost in a trafficking underground, never to be seen again. I can’t allow that to happen, no matter how much it kills me to push her away.
Scarlett slides her chair up closer, her smile saccharine sweet. “There, that’s better with the dead weight gone.”
I barely hear her words over the wave of nausea. This evening, meant to be romantic, has become an utter failure thanks to my inability to keep Alexis safe.
The betrayal in Alexis’s eyes haunts me.
19
ALEXIS
Ilean against the buttery soft leather seat of the car, arms wrapped tightly around myself as I struggle to breathe deeply. Tears sting my eyes as I replay the events of the night over and over in my mind.
It had started out so promising—my date with Damian at Basil and Olive. He had been so utterly charming, regaling me with stories and jokes that made me laugh until my cheeks hurt. When he smiled at me, I felt a spark like never before.
I was on cloud nine. It felt so natural, so right to be at that dinner with Damian.
It felt like I meant something to him. Why else would he have asked me out on a date?
Then that woman Scarlett appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, like a venomous snake, slithering up to our table uninvited. I shiver when I recall her cold eyes glinting with sadistic delight as they raked over me in disdain.
I honestly felt like I needed to shower right then and there.
Words were exchanged, and I remember my heart thumping rapidly when Scarlett remarked that I looked familiar to her. Where would I have met her before? How would she have known me?
But then before I knew what was happening, Scarlett brought out a knife, intending to attack me. I had been bewildered, scared, looking to Damian for support and protection.
But the way he responded—or rather didn’t—felt like a searing betrayal. Damian didn’t lift a finger to defend me. In fact, he pressed a kiss to her hand and his tone became light, friendly even, as if exchanging pleasantries with an old pal.
He didn’t even bother telling me that Basil and Olive was clearly a Mob restaurant. I had to figure that out myself when half the restaurant turned guns on us, scaring me half to death.
Scarlett proceeded to dominate the conversation, regaling us with stories and anecdotes from her apparently long relationship with Damian. All the while, her eyes frequently raked over me with undisguised derision and mockery.
Paralyzed with bewilderment and growing dread, I desperately looked to Damian for assistance, for clarification on this bizarre situation. But his expression remained infuriatingly impassive, betraying no hint that something was amiss.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. How could he? After the wonderful night we shared, the connection I thought we had? Yet he simply cast me aside, sending me home alone in a daze of hurt and confusion.
As questions and doubt swirl in my mind, one ugly possibility takes root—has it all been an act on Damian’s part? Some kind of twisted game? The thought makes my chest constrict painfully. I had seen a side of him that seemed so genuine.
Or had I?
