Page 7 of Wicked Tricks

To stop the nagging, I picked up my phone. I scrolled until I found Diana’s number, hitting the call button, and I listened until the phone rang out.

“She didn’t answer,” I shrugged, throwing the phone across the table. At least I had tried, and everyone could get off my back.

“Typical, she’s scared!” Robert scoffed, crossing his arms and puffing his chest.

Samuel rapped on the open door and stuck his head in. My little brother was also dressed up, ready to go out for the night.

His light brown hair was slicked back, and he was clean for a surprising change. Sammy, the mechanic, the absolute car-junkie, almost always had his hands stained black with grease and more often than not, smelt like diesel. Tonight, he looked like a whole different person in his white button down shirt.

“The chick from Lilith’s is here,” he said, flopping himself on the couch next to Ren.

“Diana?” I asked, frowning.

“No, the young one.”

I raised an eyebrow, “alone?”

“Yup,” Samuel said, opening a bag of chips and stuffing a handful in his mouth. Ren leaned over and stuck his hand in the bag and swiftly caught an elbow to the sternum from Sammy.

I gestured to one of the men who stood outside the door, “bring her in.”

3

Chapter 3

Rome

“Get off me,” I shrugged off the tattooed bear that stood guard of the ornate double door. The whole house was over the top, with marble tile and grand staircases, and more fucking doors than I had ever seen in one house.

They put up a good front of just being a normal rich family, but the deeper I got into the house - the more I understood that this was an office for them.

This was not a family home, there was a dining table, sure - but it was amateurishly covered by a sheet with distinct lumps in the shape of various models of guns poking out from beneath it.

I put my hands in my jacket pockets, entering the dimly lit office. Two men sat on a couch, eating, and two others stood by the door - one being Robert. I gave him a sarcastically sweet smile, and touched him gently on the shoulder. My heart fluttered with happiness a little when I noticed the purple bruising forming under his eyes.

“How’s the nose, Robbie?” I asked.

The two men on the couch giggled.

I turned my attention to the dark figure sitting behind the desk. He leant back in his chair, with a small smirk on his face.

He was even younger than I had expected him to be, with a sharp jawline but a certain boyishness to his face, even with the dark stubble. His hair was dark and wispy, and his even darker eyes watched me with bemusement.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Rome Dawson.”

“Rome? You’ve come to apologise, I assume?”

I scoffed, “to who? You?”

“Yes,” he smiled, leaning back in the chair.

“You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Antoni Santino, and we both know that you know exactly who I am.”

His voice was deep and rough, and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes at his arrogance. Yes, I knew exactly who he was - but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

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