Twisted Love (Twisted, #1)(67)

“Forget about the damn cat,” the second man snapped. “Let’s finish the job and get outta here.”

“I fucking hate animals,” the first man muttered in disgust. “Hey, didn’t he say there was another kid? Where’s the little snot?”

“Not here.” His partner glanced around, his eyes flickering past the fireplace and settling on the small, fancy jade statue on a side table. “At camp or something.”

“Shit, I’ve never been to camp. You ever been to camp? I’ve always wanted—”

“Shut. Up.”

They swept through the living room, pilfering the most valuable items and putting their filthy hands all over my family belongings before they finally left and silence fell.

My breath rasped in the quiet. I waited and waited. When I was sure they wouldn’t come back, I pushed open the heavy passageway door, my face reddening from the effort, and stumbled toward the bodies in the living room.

Mama. Papa. Nina.

I should call the police. I also knew I shouldn’t disturb the crime scene, but this was my family. This was the last chance I’d ever have to hold them.

So I did.

My breathing slowed, my head cleared.

I should feel angry.

I should feel sad.

I should feel something.

But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything at all.

The clawing pressure around my neck tightened. I couldn’t protect them. The people I’d loved most in the world, and I’d been useless. Helpless. A coward.

I could take revenge all I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that they were gone and I was here. Me, the most fucked-up one. If there was ever proof that the universe had a sick sense of humor, this was it.

“I have to go,” my uncle said, smoothing his hand over his tie. “I’m meeting an old friend. Are you staying for the weekend?”

I blinked away my memories and nodded.

“Excellent. We’ll play chess when I get back, hmm?”

My uncle was the only person who could hold his own against me in chess.

“Of course.” I rubbed my thumb over the wound on my hand. “Looking forward to it.”





After my uncle left, I spent an hour in the home gym working off my frustrations, but something niggled at me.

Something Ivan said and the way he’d said it…

I’m the CEO, so she didn’t have much choice.

Why the hell was my uncle checking in on me, and why did he want to know my schedule so bad he’d threaten Carolina for the information? She was a good assistant, and she wouldn’t divulge the information unless she had to.

I turned off the shower and dried myself, my mind running through the possibilities. I hadn’t gotten this far in life without listening to my instincts, so I got dressed, pulled on a pair of leather gloves, and returned to my uncle’s office. He had hidden security cameras in there, but the top-of-the-line jammer I’d bought off the black market took care of them in no time.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but after an hour of searching—including for false drawers and secret compartments—I didn’t find it. Same went for his bedroom.

Perhaps I was being paranoid.

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since my coffee and bagel at breakfast. It was now near sunset.

I gave up on my uncle’s private quarters and walked toward the kitchen. Ivan had hired a housekeeper who came by twice a week to clean up, but otherwise, he had no staff; he was too paranoid about corporate spies, whom he claimed could pop up anywhere.

Don’t trust anyone, Alex. It’s always the people you least expect who’ll stab you in the back.

At the last minute, I veered toward the library, my uncle’s favorite room in the house. The soaring, two-story room looked like something out of an English manor, with its Tiffany stained glass lamps and wall of mahogany shelves groaning beneath the weight of leather-bound tomes. Soft Oriental rugs muffled the sound of my footsteps as I walked around the room, examining the shelves. I hoped whatever I was looking for wasn’t hidden in a fake book—there were thousands of books in here.

Knowing my uncle, though, he wouldn’t choose any book. He’d choose something with significance.

I checked the sections for his favorite authors. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Taras Shevchenko, Leo Tolstoy, Alexander Dovzhenko…he had a soft spot for Russian and Ukrainian classics. Said they grounded him in his roots.

But no, all the books were real.

My eyes flitted over the rest of the library and landed on the limited-edition chess set in the corner. The pieces were still arranged in the same pattern from our last game.

While I examined the set and the surrounding area for anything that could give credence to my suspicions, I knocked against the table, and a pawn tumbled to the floor.

I cursed under my breath and bent to pick it up. As I did, my eyes snagged on the outlet beneath the table. It was a simple, ordinary outlet, except…

My gaze traveled to the left.

There was another outlet, less than a foot away. The U.S. National Electrical Code stipulated outlets must be positioned no more than six feet apart measured along the floor line, but it was rare to see two so close together.

I paused, listening for any noises—the purr of my uncle’s Mercedes pulling into the driveway, the thud of his footsteps against the parquet floors.