Twisted (Never After #4)(21)

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.

Is he still here? I should go talk to him, put a hint in his ear about Yasmin and me.

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.” Right. Sales projections.

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.

Two months. 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 like 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. “Now.”

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.