The Devil Who Would Be King: A Dark Romance by Betty Banks

Author:Betty Banks [Banks, Betty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2019-08-06T16:00:00+00:00

***

The rusting payphone on the third floor is taunting me. I sit opposite it on a small plastic stool, playing with the chipped varnish on my acrylic nails. The lights in the hallway are harsh and clinical, irritating me with their flicking bulbs and violent hums.

I don’t even know what to say to him. I don’t know how much he knows. But if there’s one thing I know about Marco Regazzi, is that nothing gets past him. And my new-found popularity is no exception; especially since it’s splashed on the front of every newspaper in Europe.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I need his help.

Vowing not to overthink it, I grab the receiver, slip a couple of coins in the slot and dial the number I’ve always had memorized, but have never wanted to call.

There are exactly three rings before a familiar voice answers.

“Oh, mia sorella,” my brother’s hushed tones come down the line, “what the fuck have you done?”

Hearing Arturo’s voice throws me off guard. I can feel my bottom lip beginning to waver: why didn’t I think about calling him first?

“Hey, Artie,” I mutter, “are you with dad?”

“No, and you’re very lucky I’m not. He’s livid.”

“It’s not my fault, I—”

“—We don’t have much time. We don’t know who’s listening. What do you need?”

“For you to… wipe the original.” In Regazzi family code, this means to remove all evidence of the person you’re impersonating. It’s only a matter of time before people realize that the mysterious woman with Scar is meant to be Izzy Inglewood. And it’s probably less time before they discover her dead body, 6,000 miles away in L.A.

“Already done,” he replies frostily. I breathe a sigh of relief. That’s one less thing to worry about.

“Thank you. Also, I can’t get to my stuff. I need you to somehow get a new identity to me, as well as clothes and a few wigs.”

“Where are you?”

“Um, France, somewhere.” I hear him groan. It’s probably accompanied by him running his hand over his shaven head and rolling his icy grey eyes. I give him the name of the motel I’m at and he taps away on a keyboard.

“Okay, we have someone on the ground just across the border in Andorra. I’ll get in touch with them and they’ll deliver what you need as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Artie. I appreciate it.”

“It’s fine,” but everything in his voice tells me it’s not. “Just get home as soon as you can. We’re working on sending someone else out to take your place.”

My blood runs cold. “You mean to kill Scar?”

“Yes. You weren’t thinking you could still do it, were you?” He sounds suspicious.

“No — Artie, don’t send anyone else. Please.” I know I sound frantic and desperate, but I can’t hide the panic rising in my throat. “I can do this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Angel, are you out of your mind? Everyone in Europe is looking out for you right now! It’s far too risky. I know you want to prove yourself but—”

“Please, Artie,” I all but whisper.

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