Page 19 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

I stood in the living room, sipping a glass of Macallan, seething.

All day, I’d been on edge—the thought of Isabelle going over to that asshole’s place keeping my blood pressure in the red.

It hadn’t started today. It had been sitting under my skin for nearly a week.

I’d been swallowing it since the day she told me, and now the leash was slipping.

I couldn’t tell her not to go—that would make me look jealous.

Which I was. Definitely. But I wasn’t about to let her know that.

Nina was going with them—no questions there. She’d play the role of a visiting friend from overseas. It was the best cover we had, but it didn’t do shit to calm my nerves.

And whatever was going on with Isabelle wasn’t helping.

She’d spent the afternoon with Jake and gone shopping with Chrissy—nothing unusual.

But the moment she walked in, everything about her felt off.

Her tight smile, her averted gaze, the death grip on her bag—all of it screamed at me louder than her muttered excuse about a shower.

Heels clicking sharply against marble made me lift my head.

Nina stood there, arms crossed, perfectly collected.

“You hate this, don’t you?” Her voice was full of empathy.

Nina had a way of reading the room—and me—better than most, but it wasn’t because of our history.

Our fling had burned hot and fast, then cooled just as quickly, leaving us with something closer to a distant friendship.

We didn’t need to speak much; the understanding between us was natural.

In some ways, we were alike—both focused, both playing our cards close to the chest. And right now, she knew exactly what was running through my head.

“We can say that,” I muttered.

“I’ll be there, nothing will happen.”

Her tone would have calmed anyone else, but it only made me hold the glass tighter. George was screwing Michael—that much I knew. But Chrissy mentioning that he had a thing for Isabelle? That blindsided me. I could easily picture the loser jerking off to the thought of her.

Hell, who was I kidding? I’d been doing the same thing since this messed-up arrangement started.

Yet, just the idea of George, or anyone else, picturing her the way I did? It was enough to make me see red. Maybe this wasn’t permanent, but right now, she was wearing my ring. That made her mine. And for however long it lasted, no one else was getting a piece of what belonged to me.

My jaw clenched as I imagined all the ways I could make sure he never had a chance to touch her. Cutting his fingers off, one by one, seemed like a solid option.

“You see him act out of line with her, break him.”

Nina nodded. “With pleasure.”

She turned to leave, then paused and looked back, something softer in her expression. “Relax. Isabelle can handle herself.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t touch her.”

Nina nodded and left to pick Isabelle up.

They were halfway to the door when I saw them. Isabelle’s white dress, traced with navy-blue flowers, hugged her in ways that should’ve been illegal. That slit? Sinful. Nina strutted beside her in black, looking every bit as fierce as she was gorgeous .

When the door clicked closed, I poured another drink, the whiskey spinning in the glass like my own thoughts.

Hours passed, each one leaving me a little more pissed off.

It was after midnight when Nina finally called with an update: she, Isabelle, and Chrissy were hitting one of my clubs to blow off some steam.

“I didn’t think I’d say this, but I like your wife and her friend. Feel free to join us,” she offered.

As if I needed the invitation.

? ? ?

The club was exclusive, loud, and blind to the right people.

It was built for VIPs who wanted their sins tucked away behind velvet curtains and paid security.

When I walked in, I didn’t go straight for them.

I swung by the manager’s office first. Good guy, knew his job, but I made it a point to stay involved.

Even if it was just small talk about earnings and the crowd, it helped me stay in control.

When I made it to the VIP area, I settled into a booth with low lighting and deep seats. Ordered my drink, leaned back, and waited.

The waitress who showed up wasn’t just working. She was remembering, and her hips made damn sure I did too. The drink came first, but her hand came second—nails skating slowly up my thigh.

“Anything you want. Anything,” she whispered, her mouth almost touching my ear.

I kept my smile polite. “I’m all good, but thanks.”

She gave me a look I didn’t bother reading, then turned away.

I had better things to focus on—specifically Isabelle, sitting with Nina and Chrissy.

She looked incredible, though her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression anything but warm, eyes narrowed just enough to tell me she’d noticed .

I smirked, finding her reaction more satisfying than I should have. For a couple of minutes, I just watched her, my drink untouched.

Isabelle seemed to relax, deep in conversation, laughing at something Chrissy said.

Then, some prick joined their table. Tall, well-dressed, the kind of guy who thought too much of himself because he had money.

Nina tensed when he arrived, while Chrissy kept talking, clueless as always. But what pissed me off? Isabelle. She wasn’t brushing him off like I’d expected. She was flirting.

I gripped the glass harder. My jaw locked.

This wasn’t the goddamn plan.

The asshole was soaking it up, smug and cocky.

Isabelle leaned forward, hand resting close enough to make my blood heat.

Is she playing him? Or me?

The whiskey burned going down. I stood without thinking and stalked across the room. When I reached them, he looked up, still grinning like an idiot.

“Mind if I join?” I asked.

Isabelle didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just gave me that sharp, unimpressed look. “Sure. Just getting to know each other.”

Oh, I bet you were.

I dropped into the seat, holding her stare without a word.

Her gaze was ice-cold, measuring.

She was pushing.

I wasn’t reacting. Not yet, anyway. But my patience had an expiration date—and it was coming fast.

The guy flashed me a grin, full of charm and absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

Was he that clueless? Or just begging for a lesson? Either way, I was going to enjoy this .

He leaned back confidently, clearly thinking he had this under control.

Yeah, keep smiling. We’ll see how long you hold onto it.

Nina was already looking away, bracing.

Chrissy, bless her, finally caught on—eyes wide, flicking between us.

I pulled out my phone, set the timer to five minutes, placed it on the table in front of him, and motioned for the waitress.

Five minutes. That’s all he had to figure out how badly he was screwing up. Five minutes to realize this was his last chance to walk away.

The asshole’s eyes flicked to it, the gears turning in his head. But he was too dull to pick up on the warning.

The waitress appeared as if on cue.

“Whiskey, neat,” I ordered casually, because why rush? When you know what’s coming, patience is half the fun.

I leaned toward him, letting him get a real good look. “Three minutes, thirty seconds. Use ‘em well.”

The fucker’s lips curled into a smug smile, his eyes flicking from the phone to me. “Fuck off.”

Buddy, you’ve got no clue how much fun we’re gonna have. Clueless idiot.

I smiled back, cool and calm. I’ve seen this play out a hundred times, and yet, it never gets old. They think I’m bluffing. They always do, right up until they start bleeding.

He hadn’t flinched, not yet. He still thought he had the upper hand, thought this was just a game. But control had already slipped through his fingers, and he was too arrogant to notice.

Isabelle, though? She had been watching the whole thing with annoyance, thinking this was just another pissing contest. She didn’t realize how far I was willing to go .

Siren, it’s going all the way. We’re not stopping at flirtation—we’re heading straight for the emergency room.

Nina was tense, her eyes flicking between us, probably realizing this was about to go south fast. She always had a sixth sense for disaster—a good trait in this line of work.

If something was about to hit the fan, she could smell it coming.

Not that she was fazed by it. Out of everyone here, Nina was the last person to be rattled by a little bloodspill.

Chrissy, meanwhile, stayed clueless—ordered another round the second my drink hit the table.

I grabbed the whiskey and took it down in one easy move.

The asshole grinned, then laid his hand on Isabelle’s thigh.

Wrong move.

Here we go. Showtime.

I stood without a word, waved for another drink, and yanked the curtains shut around us. Privacy was key for these kinds of things. Less screaming for everyone else to deal with.

He finally looked uneasy, but it was too late. He was already trapped.

I leaned in and clamped my hand around his wrist.

“Warned you.”

His face twisted in shock as I slammed his hand onto the table, hard enough to make bones scream. He stammered something, but it was a noise I didn’t care about.

My hand slid over the belt buckle, thumb popping the hidden catch. The knife slid free, blade snapping open fast. A second later, it was buried straight through his hand, nailing him to the table.

His scream ripped loose, but the bass swallowed it—just another beat in the music. Blood puddled quickly under his hand, soaking into the wood.

He stared, horrified, mouth open, tugging hard against the knife .

But this wasn’t special effects. The knife stayed buried deep.

I leaned down, my voice low and cold. “You had five minutes to leave. You chose not to. Now, you’ll sit here until I say you can go.”

His breath hitched as he struggled to make sense of the pain, but I was already done with him. I was doing him a favor. He could’ve lost a lot more than his dignity tonight.