Twisted (Never After Series)

“What’s this?”

Ali’s voice comes from the far corner of the kitchen, but I don’t break my gaze away from Yasmin’s face. In fact, I tighten my hold on her jaw, my thumb possessively caressing her cheek before releasing her and jumping back like I’ve been caught red- handed.

“Ali, I— ” Running a hand through my hair to leave it tousled, I shake my head. “I can explain.”

Ali’s face is rigid as he stares between the two of us, his arms crossing over his chest. “Explain fast.”

“Baba,” Yasmin starts.

I cut her off. “I…I love her.”

Ali’s brows shoot to his hairline, and he steps farther into the room, his hand jerking out to steady himself on the counter. Although today he looks fine, I’m reminded how much weaker he is than normal.

“I’m sorry, old man,” I continue, forcing sympathy into my voice. “This isn’t how we wanted you to find out.”

“Is this true?” His voice is incredulous, like he needs a second opinion. He turns his sallow eyes to Yasmin.

She doesn’t reply for what feels like an eternity, her teeth digging into the corner of her lip instead. I step in closer to her, grabbing her hand and tangling her clammy fingers with mine.

Our eyes meet, and I swear to God I can feel the hatred radiating from her stare. I allow my grin to widen as I look down at her and wink. She frowns, tearing away her gaze until she’s staring at the TV that’s still showing Alexander’s unfortunate crash.

Slowly, she turns her head until she’s staring at her father.

“Yes,” she whispers.

Satisfaction rushes through me like a waterfall.

Ali looks at me, his face scrunching in displeasure. “But you’re so old.”

I let out a chuckle. “Not as old as you, at least. We didn’t mean for it to happen, Ali, but the heart wants what it wants.” Bringing up our combined hands, I press a kiss to the back of hers. “Tell him, gattina.”

She stiffens. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, Baba.”

“When did it even happen?” he asks. “How? Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

She glances down at her lap, her voice breaking as she speaks, but her nails dig into the back of my hand until they slice through my skin. “I was afraid of disappointing you. And…I didn’t want Julian’s position in your life to be harmed.”

Ali sighs, walking closer to her and taking her free hand in both of his. “And this is who you love?”

She swallows, glancing up at him and then looking away after only a few moments like she’s unable to hold his gaze. “It is.”

He blows out a slow breath and nods, leaning in to kiss her forehead before he steps back and looks at the two of us. “Then he’s who you’ll marry.”

I grin, my body buzzing with the thrill of success.

Yasmin visibly slumps, and I move my hand from hers, sliding it up her arm until it grips the back of her neck. She straightens immediately, pasting a wide smile on her face.

Leaning down, I press a kiss to her temple, speaking low so her father doesn’t hear. “You’ve been a very good girl.”

“What’s wrong, Yasmin? Is this not what you want?” Ali asks.

Tears spring from her eyes, dripping down her face, and while I know they’re most likely out of sadness or frustration, she does a good job at pretending they’re from joy.

“I’m just happy, Baba.” She shakes her head, reaching up to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “I expected for you to be angry with me.”

He nods, understanding pouring from his gaze. “I’m a man on the last leg of his life.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers.

His brows draw in. “It’s the truth. Even if my footprints have been set in stone, I won’t be here forever. I have no time for anger. I’d rather spend it finding peace. He’s not who I would have chosen for you, sweetheart, but if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Yasmin sucks in an audible breath, her entire body going rigid at his words.

I should feel vindicated, relieved even, that she didn’t figure out he would have accepted her lover until now when it’s too late and she’s already played into my hand, but instead of feeling relief, my stomach twists violently. After everything I’ve given him, after everything I’ve done, I’m still not enough. He should be honored that I’m choosing his worthless daughter, and yet he’s so blatant with his disregard.

It’s a slap across my face.

Worse, it’s a knife in my back. I swallow around the feeling of not being good enough, the same feeling that was responsible for many sleepless nights as a child, and push it so deep down that it’s smothered.

It doesn’t matter if I’m not his choice. I’m my own choice, and I’m the only person who’s never let me down.

One day soon, I’ll have complete control of Sultans, and I’ll take joy in watching everyone who’s ever thought I wasn’t good enough choke on their words while I hold the universe in the palm of my hand.

“Now.” Ali claps his hands together, moving back and staring at the two of us. “How about a wedding?”

“Tinashe, friend, tell me what the problem is,” I ask, leaning back in my desk chair, peering out over the skyline of Badour from the wall of windows in my office. The sun is just setting, oranges clashing with pinks until the view creates a stunning glow across the tops of the shiny skyscrapers.

“Julian,” Tinashe breathes out, sounding relieved. “Darryn is not happy that you’re coming into his territory and trying to steal the lost lamp out from under him.”

I grab a pen, tapping it on the desk, irritated that I have to deal with this situation at all. “Remind me again, old friend, why I pay you?”

There’s a long beat of silence before his deep voice comes over the line again. “I’m not a miracle worker, Julian. I can get you a lot of places and make friends with a lot of people, but I am no genie. I can’t wave my arms and suddenly make it okay for you to come in illegally and smuggle out relics from other countries.”

I scoff, tossing the pen in my hand down, watching as it rolls across my desk. “Darryn Anders couldn’t care less about smuggling relics. He practically coined the operation.”

Tinashe clicks his tongue. “But he does care about someone else trying to beat him to the lamp. He’s been there almost a decade looking for himself.”

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And that’s our problem how?”

“He wants you gone. Period. I’m just looking out for the people you have here on the ground. Darryn isn’t known to be gentle with his points.”

I shake my head, annoyance pouring over me like rubbing alcohol on wounds. The last thing I want to do is give in and reason with Darryn, but his resources there are much stronger and rooted in years of work, whereas ours is a newer venture. I need to be smart about this, treat it as a business deal instead of something I’m fighting against. Lull him into a false sense of comfort so that he doesn’t cause us more problems down the road. Once I have the lamp, it won’t matter. We’ll leave the area, and he can’t do anything else to get in my way.

“Does Jeannie know about this?”

Tinashe chuckles. “Jeannie knows about everything, Julian. That’s why she’s the lead.”

My fingers tighten around my phone, annoyed that she hasn’t said anything about Darryn Anders directly to me. Actually, I haven’t gotten a single email from her since she told me about the new spot she wanted to look the other day, and if she already knew about Darryn, it’s irritating she didn’t include that in her update.

“Let me see what I can manage,” I say.

Tinashe grunts and I hang up before he can say anything else. I bring up Ian’s number and send him a text.

Me: Do not do ANYTHING outside the compound until you hear from me. Take the boy there and stay put. I’ll be very annoyed if you get yourself killed. And talk to Jeannie, figure out where we stand with the search. Ask her about Darryn Anders and why she didn’t feel the need to tell us something so important.

Before I can even put my phone down, it vibrates again in my hand, and the bad mood that’s been coiling around my back cinches a little tighter.

Mamma flashes across the screen.

Indecision weighs down my shoulders. I run my tongue over the front of my teeth, my fingers tap, tap, tapping on my desk as I watch the call go to voicemail. Only then do I let out a breath, guilt swirling in my stomach at the fact that I didn’t pick up again.

I make a mental note to call her nurse, Jessica, and make sure she doesn’t need anything, which she shouldn’t. I put her up in a gorgeous four-thousand-  square- foot home on the lake, giving her the best care money can buy.

And still, it’s not enough to get her off my back.

A voicemail notification pops up and I press Play on speaker, my mother’s voice filling the room.

“Vita mia, it’s mommy dearest.”

Her voice is low and soft, as though she can barely muster up the strength to whisper, which only further proves I made the right choice in not picking up the phone. There’s no escaping her doom and gloom when she wants to spread it to the world.

“Just trying to get ahold of you, you know? It’s lonely here all by myself.” She sighs. “Jessica says you’re a busy man, but what type of kid is too busy to call his mother? Anyway, I hope I get to talk to you soon, and I hope you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere, God forbid. Not that I’d ever be called if you were. It’s like I’m a stranger even though I gave you life, but you know, that must not mean as much these days as it did when I was growing up.”

Reaching over, I press a key on my computer keyboard to light up my screen, pulling up my emails as I listen to her drone on.

“I don’t know if you care, since you can’t even pick up the phone, but the doctors aren’t sure how much longer I have left. It could be any day now, so I pray I get to hear your sweet voice again before it’s too late. You’re the only thing that keeps me going.”

The need to check in on her surges through my chest, but it’s anger that burns my heart. For years, her words would bleed into my conscience, make me think that time was limited and she was going to die. But you can only cry wolf so many times before people stop believing.

“Ti voglio bene, piccolo,” she finishes.

Glancing down at my phone as the voicemail ends, I reach out, pressing the Delete button, a quick flash of guilt mixing in with the other emotions and making me sick to my stomach. Instead of focusing on the feeling, I jump up from my chair and leave my office, heading down to the bottom floor of Sultans’ headquarters where we create the lab- grown diamonds.

We’ve only started manufacturing our own diamonds in the past few years, and it took a hell of a lot of convincing Ali that it would be worth it. He doesn’t think they hold the same value, but it doesn’t matter what he thinks. What matters are the consumers, and after the clean diamond trade act tightened regulations on conflict diamonds, lab- grown gems blew up in popularity.

People want to believe they’re contributing to the good of the world instead of the bad, and synthetic diamonds are a way to market to that need.

Mainly, however, we use the synthetic diamonds to cut and polish the ones mined, and then we sell off a large portion of the rest to third- party sellers.

I walk down the aisles of the discolored concrete floor in the manufacturing warehouse, through the HPHT cubic press machines— giant light- blue machinery with six sides that apply immense heat and pressure to create the synthetic diamonds— and allow my mind to focus on the employees who are clearly aware of my presence, based on the way they’re lingering on the edges of the aisles and not coming to greet me.

Other than the sound of the equipment and a faint beat of music from the offices in the far right corner, it’s quiet.

Truth be told, I don’t come to other departments often, but every once in a while, I make a surprise visit, just to ensure things are running as smoothly as the department managers tell me when I get the weekend reports. Normally, when I show up places, it disrupts the workflow more than helps, because people are on edge when I’m around.

Clearly.

But right now, I don’t really care. I need the distraction from both the tumultuous emotions bleeding through my system courtesy of my nagging mother and from the annoyance of Darryn Anders trying to take what I want.

Something vibrates in my pocket and my footsteps falter. I reach in my pocket and pull out the phone, smirking when I realize it isn’t my cell ringing but Yasmin’s.

Riya flashes across the screen and I silence the call, slipping it back in my pocket, satisfied that it isn’t the boy trying to contact her again. It was easy enough to break into her phone— having her father’s birth date and hers isn’t exactly a difficult passcode to guess— and once I did, it was child’s play putting a stop to Aidan meeting her two nights ago. I simply pretended to be Yasmin and told him something had come up with her father, and when he replied, I left him on read. A tendril of satisfaction wraps around me when I realize that he hasn’t attempted to reach out again.

Foolish boy.

But fortuitous for me, because I can’t have him in my way.

Especially when Yasmin is so close to becoming mine.