Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

2. Emma

Chapter 2

Emma

A chilles Warwick has no idea that the woman he’s bringing home to London isn’t Raleigh, younger sister of Thomas Warwick and prime pawn material. She is, in fact, a terrified nobody named Emma Clarke. And she- I - am already regretting my decision to act the hero.

But what else was I supposed to do when I saw the blood start to soak through Paul’s sleeve? Without him, I wouldn’t have had a single friend or guide on the Warwick estate after Raleigh settled in her country home with her husband. Paul, Iris’s husband, showed me around the place, made sure I ate at reasonable hours and didn’t just hole up in my room. Most importantly, he’s been the most willing to believe that I can be more than just a street thug adopted through Raleigh’s charity.

And now, I have the chance to prove just that. While Thomas is stuck in the hospital for god knows how long, Iris may be holding down the estate, and Paul might be supporting her, but now I have a role too.

I can be their decoy.

Everything I told Achilles about the baby boy was true, except for one detail. It isn’t Thomas’s child being born today. It’s Raleigh’s.

Raleigh, who took me off the street and gave me a job and a home, who’s been nothing but a friend to me when my own hubris could have ruined her life. I owe her everything. So the least I can do is buy her and her family time while she’s fighting for her life and the life of her baby.

A sleek black car is parked just a little down the road leading up the estate, and Achilles walks us swiftly to it without the barrel of his gun budging an inch from my head. Once I’m in the passenger seat and he’s behind the wheel, he keeps the gun in his lap, prepared to aim at me any moment as he drives.

He doesn’t try to break the silence or even look at me, which I’m grateful for. His narrow jaw is tense, but it doesn’t seem to be from nerves. Irritation? Is this just one big inconvenience to him?

I don’t know why I thought we’d hop on a commercial flight to London. After we’ve woven our way through the bustling airport, Achilles’s gun thankfully tucked back into his jacket pocket, we make our way to a private terminal where a sleek jet sits waiting.

God. If I’d known this morning that I was going to become a hostage on a nine hour transatlantic flight, I’d have made a point to eat breakfast.

Then again, I’ve never been in a plane before. It’s entirely possible that whatever I ate might come back up the second the landing gear leaves the tarmac.

Achilles puts me ahead of him as we walk up the stairs into the plane. I don’t want to be in awe of the luxurious white leather seats and the space in the cabin, but this is easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever been inside. Along one side of the cabin stretch long low couches, and on the other there are two small tables bolted down with two broad chairs each. Achilles puts me into one of the chairs, then settles onto the couch.

“Your cooperation is much appreciated,” he says with a sigh as the crew closes up the plane and prepares it for flight. They’re the first words he’s spoken to me since he told me to come here , but he just sounds exasperated. This whole situation- the flight across the ocean, the intimidation, shooting a man and then taking a hostage- seems like an irritation for him, like an unexpected errand that interrupted his routine.

What incredible privilege.

“It’s been half an hour since I saw what you did to people who don’t,” I say quietly. “I haven’t forgotten yet.”

For the first time since our standoff in Thomas’s office, Achilles meets my eye. His are a warm chocolate brown. They should be comforting, but they just look tired and… empty.

A man in a crisp captain’s uniform comes into the cabin from the cockpit, tipping his hat to Achilles. “Mr. Ashwood, we’re ready for takeoff when you are.”

I look between the two men, confused, but Achilles doesn’t acknowledge me at all. “Thank you, captain. Carry on.” When the captain leaves, he does turn to me, looking bemused. “Buckle yourself in,” he says simply. “We’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”

“Mr. Ashwood?” I blurt, forgetting myself. “Who-”

“Buckle. Your. Seatbelt,” Achilles orders, each word clipped short.

I try to do as he says, my mind spinning. Achilles… Ashwood? Is that his real name? Why pretend to be a Warwick, then? Or is he a Warwick pretending to be someone else? My stomach is plummeting more by the second, my hands shaking almost too hard to buckle the seatbelt over my lap.

If Achilles isn’t Achilles Warwick, then it’s entirely possible that none of what he said on the estate was true. Did I just throw myself into a situation that isn’t anything like what I thought?

I don’t know if Achilles notices how hard I’m shaking or just that I haven’t properly fastened my seatbelt yet, but he sighs sharply. “Bollocks,” he curses to himself, then glares at me as if this is all my fault. “My name is, in fact, Achilles Ashwood,” he says. “I am in the employ of Fantasia Warwick, and while traveling I tend to use her name to improve my credibility. Satisfied?”

I’m still a hostage, so no , but also yes. It’s then that I notice he hasn’t touched his seatbelt. After a few moments of frosty silence, I feel the plane shudder to life around me. For the first time I think about leaving the ground behind, being thousands of feet in the air-

I shut my eyes tight as my stomach swoops. If I have to keep them closed for the entire flight, then so be it.

“Comfortable, Miss Warwick?”

My head snaps up, even though the name being called isn’t mine. Across the aisle, Achilles is posed like he’s lounging, with his ankle resting on his knee and one arm thrown back over the top of the couch. He’s spreading out to intimidate me, but instead of his beautiful face looking smug or malicious, he still just looks annoyed.

I wonder what could make him happy, if successfully leaving the country with a hostage won’t cut it.

That being said, he didn’t seem happy when he was threatening us with violence either. What an odd attitude for someone who’s clearly his family’s favorite enforcer. So if he doesn’t relish pain and he isn’t interested in having me at his mercy, what else motivates him? I need to know more about him if I want to predict what comes next and get the hell out of it.

The first thing that’s obvious is that this man oozes old money. Or maybe old nobility, considering he’s British. His cream three piece suit with the slit sleeve coat and shining golden buttons- nevermind his polished black and white shoes, his crystal watch, and the designer sunglasses tucked into his breast pocket- is worth more than I’ve ever seen in my life and probably ever will. The shadow of stubble on his narrow jaw is probably trimmed by a servant every morning.

And his tousled brown curls-

Achilles clears his throat loudly. “Miss. Warwick.”

I blink out of my thoughts. Fuck, I was staring for too long. I hope he didn’t think I was studying him too calculatedly. I’m pretending to be a wide-eyed and naive mafia princess here, not a girl who had to raise herself because her good-for-nothing dad was only around when he was mad.

“I-I’m sorry. What was the question?” I ask.

Achilles’s cheek twitches. Maybe he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Did your brother ever make you aware of our attempted correspondence, Miss Warwick? Or did you just learn about all of this today?”

I should pretend ignorance, if only to keep him talking, but yes, I’ve heard the gist of the situation from Raleigh, and a little from Paul. “I might have heard your name before,” I say carefully, “but I don’t really understand what you want.”

“What I want is what Fantasia wants,” Achilles says dismissively. “The Warwicks in the States and the Warwicks in London used to be one operation, and should be again. The way Fantasia sees it, all parties involved in the estrangement are dead, and thus the new generation has a chance to rebuild burnt bridges.”

Estrangement? Dead? I suppress a chill. Should I ask for more details or will it be suspicious that I don’t know more about the history of “my” family? Since Raleigh and Thomas seemed ignorant of these peoples’ existence, maybe it won’t hurt. “To be honest, I… didn’t know there were Warwicks anywhere else.”

Achilles’s eyes narrow at that, but only with frustration, not doubt. “Thomas Warwick Sr. never spoke of his brother to you? Or the row the two of them had?”

Now Thomas Warwick Sr. I know of. He was Thomas’s father, and Morgan Speare’s best friend before the two of them had their own falling out, forming the separate mafia groups that would eventually turn me into a lowlife thug and my father into a corpse. Sr. must not have been that pleasant a person if he managed to ruin his relationship between his best friend and his own brother. Then again, Morgan Speare wasn’t an upstanding guy either.

“I d-didn’t even know he- my father had a brother,” I confess. And then add, because I know this much about Raleigh’s daddy issues at least, “We didn’t exactly talk much.”

Achilles huffs a sigh. “Thomas Warwick Sr. and his older brother Marcus, who was the head of the Warwicks when we were all one family operating in London, disagreed on a personal matter. When Marcus ignored Thomas Sr.’s counsel, Thomas took his closest allies and left the country. Since then, these two branches of our family have had no contact. Fantasia has recently come into her position as heir, and her priority is to change that.”

I wonder what ‘personal matter’ could be so intense that the family split in two because of it, but that question seems a little too searching to ask just yet. I’m also curious as to how Fantasia became her father’s heir instead of someone as capable as Achilles, but that’s hardly relevant right now. “H-How did you find us?” I ask instead, trying to distract myself from the trembling under my feet. Are we taking off now? Are we already in the air?

“Thomas Sr. wasn’t exactly trying to keep his location a secret,” Achilles says. “The brothers’ estrangement was deep enough that neither of them even attempted to contact each other again. However, our family at Wesley Hall did have a record of his new address available thanks to an order he placed to have several items of value shipped overseas to him. Things he forgot during the emigration that he didn’t want his brother to have, I believe. It’s hardly important now.”

I’ll be the judge of that, since it’s my life on the line because of this feud. “But… why now?” I ask. “Why start demanding tithe now if you’ve always known where we were?”

Achilles’s eyes narrow on me. “No more questions,” he says impatiently. “At least not from you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but then the plane shudders, its engines roaring to life as the ground beneath us vibrates. My stomach lurches with the sudden acceleration, and I grip the armrest tighter as the plane begins its climb into the sky. The force presses me back into my seat, my body pinned for a moment by the power of the takeoff. The view outside the window shifts, the ground falling away in a rapid, dizzying drop, until the world below becomes a patchwork of tiny, distant shapes.

After a moment, the shaking stops, and the hum of the engines takes over, steady and deep. Achilles cocks his head, as if listening for something, his eyes sharp.

“We’re above cruising altitude now. You can remove your seatbelt.”

I blink at Achilles. Was he giving me that history lesson about the Warwicks… just to distract me from takeoff?

Feeling a little more uncertain, I unbuckle my seatbelt. Achilles leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and looks up at me through dark lashes.

“Now then Miss Warwick,” he says, his rich accent making every syllable a new experience, “any information you can provide about your brother’s ability to pay this tithe- that is, his business ventures, his political allegiances, his personal goals- would be helpful at this stage. Thanks to the delay in payment, there is, of course, a rather large back pay owed now.”

I’ve barely been a member of the Warwick’s estate for six months, and in that time I’ve been relying heavily on Raleigh’s good will and Paul’s affection for strays. But I don’t have a position there or a job I’m expected to do. My background as a street thug makes Thomas reluctant to trust me with anything serious until he’s fully gotten used to me. And I can only agree. I was more than happy to step in for Raleigh’s sake, but if I can dig up some intel on this strange bunch of Warwicks as well, it might help me earn his trust at last.

That does mean, however, that I have next to no information to offer this man even if I wanted to. And the more questions he asks, the more obvious it might become that I’m lying through my teeth. I’m just here to buy time for Raleigh and Thomas. The least I can do is make sure Achilles has made it all the way back to London before I crack.

So I decide to try something that Raleigh might do- something so absurd, it’ll throw Achilles completely off this game.

I decide to seduce him.

I lean forward, matching his pose but resting my chin on my fist. “Are you sure there aren’t other ways we can make up this tithe?” I ask.

Achilles’s dark eyes narrow even further. “That’s not a possibility at this stage,” he says frankly. “If Thomas has to liquidate assets in order to get us the money we’re owed, that’s due to his own carelessness-”

“I’m not talking about money,” I interrupt. Swallowing back my own inexperience and fear, I reach out.

My palm rests on his knee, and before I can second guess or panic, I drag it languidly up his thigh. I’m watching Achilles’s eyes, but his eyes are locked onto my hand. Will he lash out at me for this? Or, maybe worse than that, will he accept this forwardness too enthusiastically?

I’ve never touched a man like this before. I’ve never even been to first base. I’m not prepared for this plan to go wrong, much less right. But I don’t have many more options, and my decision is made now. I have to commit.

“I’m talking about… services ,” I say, and I don’t have to fake the breathiness in my voice.

Achilles can’t seem to look away from my hand. I’ve baffled him for the first time, which I’ll take as a small victory. While he’s still frowning and confused, I slip from my chair- into his lap. My legs straddle him, and Achilles jolts. His hands come up, but instead of shoving me off, they grip my hips like vices. My breath catches, but I can’t pull away now.

I hope he thinks I’m trembling with anticipation and not terror as I run my fingers along the stubble of his jaw. His pupils are dark pools eating up the brown of his eyes. His lips part like he wants to speak, but no sound comes out. His brows are furrowed like he wants to protest, but his body has clearly betrayed him.

“What are you-”

“You can be honest with me, Achilles,” I whisper. My thumb strokes over his bottom lip. It’s softer than I thought it would be, and my thoughts stutter before I remember myself. “This is why you really wanted me as a hostage.”

He responds instantly. I feel him harden, his erection pressing up between my legs. I gasp, a pang of heat and feeling shooting through my core-

Achilles blinks, and the spell is over. His hands on my hips are all it takes to shove me right off his lap. I stumble back but manage to keep my feet, only for Achilles to grab my arm and shove me back down into my chair. Before I can even catch my breath, he’s snatched my wrists, tugged off his belt, and bound both my hands to the armrest of my chair.

At that moment, a flight attendant in a neat uniform comes into the cabin from a back compartment of the plane. She sees Achilles standing over me, sees the belt binding my wrists, and promptly freezes in place. Achilles spares her a single impatient glance.

“Do not touch or speak to this hostage,” he orders her. “Not for any reason. And you .” He turns on me, snarling. “Never suggest something so insulting to me again.”

With that, he storms away from me, and the flight attendant also makes herself scarce. I hear the door to the cockpit of the plane open and slam closed, and I’m left alone and breathless.