Twisted: Chapter 8

The boy really is insufferable. He’s groaning over what Yasmin is telling him without offering any valuable input and figuring out a solution, which makes him worthless. After all, problems that show up are nothing more than puzzles asking to be solved.

That being said, the fact that this is the second time I’ve been able to waltz into their “secret” rendezvous spot without them even realizing I’m here doesn’t give me much hope for either of their ingenuity.

The boy— Aidan spins around, his dull brown eyes meeting mine before he whips his head to Yasmin. “You talked to about this?”

I chuckle at the way my name rolls off his tongue like battery acid.

“My father listens to him,” Yasmin rushes out, her voice tinged with desperation. “He can us, Aidan.”

Aidan looks back at me, his brows rising. “And you’re willing to help…just like that?” He snaps his fingers.

Smiling, I move farther into the room, taking my time as I walk, my dress shoes clicking on the wood floor. I don’t close the door behind me, just to see if either of them notice and say something about keeping this a private matter.

They don’t.

I glance to Aidan, nodding toward the door. “You might want to close that.”

His eyes widen as he rushes to it, slamming it shut and turning the lock before jogging back to Yasmin, who’s standing in front of the small twin bed, and wrapping his long, lanky arms around her.

“I’m willing to help, but I’ll admit it’s not for selfless reasons.” I brush a small piece of lint from my suit jacket’s sleeve.

Yasmin snorts. “Who would ever think were selfless?”

Her eyes flick to the small twin bed, just for a moment, as if she’s remembering the last time I saw her here. And that makes think of it, my cock twitching at the memory.

“I can be extraordinarily giving, gattina. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to experience it.” I grin at her. “But in this case at least, you’re right. Let’s consider this a business deal.”

Aidan perks up, his spine straightening like a dog with the promise of a treat. “Business deal?”

I nod, looking around the cramped room before meeting his gaze. “I assume you have higher aspirations than…this? Working alongside your mother can’t be good for your ego.”

Yasmin makes a noise, but I keep my eyes on Aidan. Body language gives away secrets mouths won’t say, and right now Aidan’s body is leaning forward, his attention rapt and his eyes gleaming.

And I know hunger for power when I see it.

“My ego is fine,” Aidan replies.

He reaches out, grasping Yasmin’s hand in his.

“But I love her,” he continues. “I’ll do anything to be the one to marry her.”

Yasmin stares up at him with stars in her eyes, leaning into his side with a soft smile.

I don’t miss the way he doesn’t lean into .

“And if you needed to disappear for a while in order for that to happen?” I ask, tilting my head.

“

” Yasmin gasps. “You never said anything about him leaving.”

Aidan looks over at her, dragging her even closer and pressing his lips to her forehead. His jaw tenses before he meets my stare again. “Like I said, I’ll do .”

I nod, slipping my hands in my pockets, envy swirling through my middle. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly experiencing the emotion, but I assume it’s because I’ve never known what it’s like to have someone willing to put you first.

To choose you over everybody else.

Clearing my throat, I crack my neck and brush off the feeling. I wasn’t sure how this would go, but having him so agreeable will only work in my favor. The easier it is to get him under my thumb, the faster he’ll be out of my way when it comes to Yasmin. “Then you’ll come and work for me.”

“Can we be serious for a second?” Yasmin cuts in again. “This is life we’re all talking about, and— ”

“Princess, shush.” Aidan’s voice is sharp.

My brows lift as I glance to Yasmin, ready to see that fire she brings so readily for me, sure it’s about to explode from her pores at being hushed like a child throwing a tantrum. But instead of that rambunctious flame, there’s nothing. Just her biting down on the corner of her bottom lip and moving her gaze to the ground like a docile pet that’s been brought to heel.

The same way she does around her father.

“There’s something her father wants,” I say.

It’s a tiny, little white lie. Ali doesn’t care about the lamp half as much as I do or about expanding Sultans into other avenues outside diamonds, but it will work in my favor if they think it’s with the motivations. Easier to get Aidan out of the way so I can move in and steal his little prize pussycat for myself.

Moving my hand from my pocket, I bring it up to my face, staring at the cuticles on my fingers. “Unfortunately, the man overseeing the operation has to go home for some personal issues. And I can’t find the will in me to care enough to travel myself.”

“Diamonds?” Aidan asks, curiosity brimming the edges of his voice.

I flick my gaze to meet his briefly. “No. We’re expanding beyond the diamond trade, or at least we’re attempting to. There’s a lamp. A relic. One that Ali is for but hasn’t been able to find. It’s priceless really, worth hundreds of millions easily in a black market auction. If we secure it for ourselves, then Sultans will gain footing in the antiquity market. You can imagine how appealing that is, I’m sure, considering it’s Ali’s legacy we’re talking about.”

“I’ll find it,” Aidan is quick to reply.

As though he’d be able to find the most wanted lost relic of the ages with no experience and no one to guide him.

“I can’t guarantee you ever will. You don’t have any of the skills necessary, and people will absolutely talk about how you aren’t qualified to oversee the digs. You’ll need to rely on Jeannie, our lead archaeologist, who’s there, and my assistant Ian, who I’ll send with you.” I quirk a brow, leaning in slightly. “But if you find it…”

Aidan’s body mimics my movements, hanging on to my every word like they’re his lifeline. “I’d gain Mr. Karam’s favor,” he concludes.

I lick my lips and gesture toward Yasmin. “Find the lost lamp, and you’ll get the girl.”

Aidan’s face lights up, his eyes wide as he nods, but Yasmin is looking at me with suspicion. She’s dropped Aidan’s hand to cross both arms over her chest, her heeled shoe tapping against the floor in an irritating rhythm, that obnoxious little glare marring her otherwise flawless face.

I ignore her glare and the way my hand tingles with the need to flip her over my knee and show her what being a brat gets her.

It’s not quite that easy, of course. Aidan will need to be integrated into the system we already have in place. He’ll need to meet Jeannie, our lead archaeologist on-site, and get her to allow  him to shadow her, even though he has no clue what he’s doing and will most likely only get in her way. But my goal isn’t for him to actually the lamp, although if by some miracle he does, even better. I just need him far away and out of Yasmin’s reach, yet still under my thumb so I can use him to control her.

“So I’ll be basically working for you? For Sultans?” he asks.

“Under the table, of course. You’ll be paid in cash similar to the other people we have at the compound in Egypt. Can’t have you on official payroll for something like this. But if you find it, then…” I lift a shoulder. “Who knows what the future could hold.”

The boy’s face is lit with promise, and I wonder how much Yasmin really knows about him.

“Do we have a deal?” I press, reaching out my palm.

He stares at it for a few seconds before placing his hand in mine.

My eyes flick to Yasmin. Her head is tilted to the side, and her gaze is bouncing from the boy and back to me, like a seesaw, unsure of where to focus.

There’s something going through that normally empty little mind of hers, but I can’t find it in me to care what it is. Let her think I’m either up to no good or her savior; it really makes no difference either way. Once I have her lover boy in my grasp, she’ll bow to my demands whether she likes it or not.

I’ve just entered the lobby of Sultans’ headquarters, which sits in the largest skyscraper directly in the center of Badour, New York, but before I can make my way to the elevator that leads to the eighty- ninth floor, which is exclusive to my offices and those who work directly beneath me, I see a blacked- out Maybach pulling up to the curb.

It’s still incredibly early, the morning sun just rising beyond the horizon, the yellow headlights of the car cutting a muted glow through the dewy mist that fogs up the quiet city streets.

I’d know the car anywhere, but even if I didn’t, there’s only one other man who would arrive at an office before anyone else is even awake for the day, and that man promised me he’d be staying home in the future, allowing his body to .

Something pinches in my stomach when I see Ali’s driver exit the front of the car and walk around to the back, opening the door and allowing Ali himself to step out of the vehicle.

I’m tempted to head over there and demand he go back home, allow his nurse to tend to him while I continue to do the heavy grunt work here, but then I think of what I’d feel if the situation were reversed. No amount of words will stop a man when there’s determination thrumming through him like blood in his veins.

Still, I’m annoyed enough at the disregard for his health that I don’t want to speak to him yet, and then I get even more frustrated that I care about him at all, so I spin around and press the elevator button, stepping inside and making my way to my own floor.

An hour later and I’m still lost in my head, even though I’m sitting at the end of a long rectangular table in the marketing floor’s conference room, surrounded by a dozen other people. Glancing down, I skim over the quarterly report on macroeconomic trends, trying to focus on the voice of the pipsqueak who is standing in front of a PowerPoint, his tone shaking slightly as he spouts off about the state of the consumer and what our vision is to stay ahead of the market.

“Sir?”

I lift my head up from the pages, peering around and seeing everyone’s eyes on me. Clearing my throat, I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table and steepling my fingers in front of my face.

Honestly, I have no clue what they’ve just said. My mind is still wandering to the hallway, wondering if Ali is going to make a surprise appearance.

I look over to Ian, whose eyes are wide and mouth drawn down while he stares at me, and I quirk a brow.

His hand smacks the table, clearly understanding that I’d like him to speak. “All this looks decent. Get the sales projections for the next quarter on Mr. Faraci’s desk by the end of the day.”

Standing up, I button the front of my suit jacket and glance down one more time at the papers. “Since these numbers clearly show the United States is dipping closer to a recession, I think it’s advantageous for us to assume that we’ll need to market differently until we’re on the upswing. Show me how you plan to do that.”

And then I’m out of the meeting, not waiting to hear their murmured replies, and I’m heading to the floor a few above mine where Ali’s office sits.

His floor is similar to mine in grandeur, the white marble tile gleaming with swirls of sparkled gray, cream chairs, and gray couches scattered along the receptionist area with natural oak tables. I walk past the empty assistant’s desk and head straight back until I’m standing at Ali’s office door, my hand poised to knock. But something stops me in my tracks, and I lean my ear against the wood grain instead, holding my breath when I hear his muted voice.

“How long?” Ali’s voice is strained and weak. Weaker than I’ve heard it before.

Silence.

“Two months?” he continues. “That’s it?”

My heart pounds against my ribs, the breath that escapes me shaky.

He’s closer to death than I thought. A punch of sadness hits me in the center of my chest, cracking through the concrete wall I’ve built around it, making my ribs tremble.

It’s…conflicting, the way I feel about Ali’s sickness.

In the beginning, my goal was to learn everything I could from him and then gift him the honor of living on through the artwork on my body, killing him off so I could step in effortlessly to take his place.

Maybe he’d die in an unfortunate accident, or perhaps he’d suffocate in his sleep.

But as time wore on, something happened that I hadn’t accounted for.

I started to look up to him as more than someone I longed to be.

He has been the first man in my life to treat me like I’m worth a damn, the only one who’s ever taken me under their wing and showed me a path to success that didn’t involve a drunk dad and abusive mother. There have been plenty of opportunities for me to end his life, but every opportunity I had was squandered by the smaller piece inside me that was desperate for his attention, reveling in his approval and twisting it into a type of fatherly love that I’ve never experienced from anyone else.

When he confided in me that his cancer was terminal and he wasn’t going back for another round of treatment, I was relieved. The burden of having to watch the life leave his eyes beneath my hands was weighing heavily on my soul, and this way, it could happen naturally.

I took it as a sign from God that I was destined to be great. The most powerful. And the universe is moving Ali out of the way in order for me to run Sultans.

Still, that small boy inside me who aches for love breaks a little more whenever I think about what life will be like once he’s gone.

Ali sighs and says goodbye to who I’m assuming is his doctor, and I pull back from the door, overwhelmed by the mismatched emotions warring inside me.

I had known that he didn’t have much time left, but I didn’t realize he was this close to the end.

My throat tightens.

It’s not enough time for my plans.

I spin around and head back toward the elevator, my leg muscles burning from my long, hurried strides. I jam my finger into the button for my floor, resting my hand on the elevator wall as the doors close and it starts to lower.

The soft jazz music flows through the speakers and feels like razor blades against my eardrums as I try to get control of my tumultuous feelings. I don’t the way they seem to keep sprouting up unwanted. Emotions lead to messy decisions and stupid mistakes, and I don’t have time for either.

A ping sounds and the doors open to my floor, Ciara just getting settled behind her desk. She stands up straight when she sees me storming across the floor.

“Afternoon, Mr. Faraci.”

I barely glance at her, giving her the slightest nod before I continue to my door. “Get Ian in my office,” I say to her. “

.”

I march into the room, stripping off my suit jacket and tossing it on the back of a random cream chair, continuing to my desk, which sits in front of the panoramic view of the city below. Running my hand through my hair, I tug on the roots until they sting, walking back and forth.

“Oh god, you’re pacing.” Ian’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

I spin toward him, noticing that his suit is slightly crumpled like he threw it on too quickly. “The old man is dying.”

Ian sighs as he drops into a wingback chair in front of my desk, crossing one leg over the opposite knee. “Not soon enough, in my opinion. Is that why you were so distracted in the meeting?”

His words shoot into my stomach, irritating the lining and sending a flare of anger through me. I tamp it down, not wanting Ian to know about my confused emotions regarding Ali.

“This isn’t a joke, Ian,” I spit. “I will not lose everything I’ve worked for to some nobody who doesn’t belong or the obnoxious daughter who doesn’t deserve it. I took care of that first fool who was sent here to meet her; I don’t want a thousand more to waltz through Ali’s doors in the next couple of weeks. I can’t kill them . Not so quickly at least. It would be incredibly suspicious.”

Ian nods, running his fingers underneath his chin. “So we move up the timeline. Get Yasmin’s boy out of the way sooner. I can have him on a flight to Egypt in less than a day.”

His idea has merit, and I slow my pacing as I revise the plan in my head. “That’s not enough. We have to push Yasmin into marriage sooner. Now, before it’s too late.”

Ian nods. “Shame we can’t just kill her and be done with it.”

Blowing out a breath, I rest my hands on the back of my chair, bending my neck until a satisfying crack runs up the side. “That would be entirely unhelpful. Stick to the plan: take the boy to Egypt, and we’ll use him to control her.”

Ian sits forward in his chair, a menacing gleam flitting through his eyes. “Can I kill ?”

“Your obsession with murder is disturbing.” I give him a disapproving stare. “And no, you can’t. It takes finesse, and you’ll be too messy.”

He groans, throwing himself backward. “Fine.”

I rub my finger along the stubble on my chin, a new idea forming. “You may not be able to kill the boy yourself, Ian. But we’ll make Yasmin you will.”