Page 124 of Sinful Lord

“You’ve had enough time to paint,” Tytus grunts. “Now we keep each other company.”

“And if I don’t want to keep your company?”

“Then you’re shit out of luck.”

All I can do is cross my arms and pout as Tytus reaches around me and opens up his laptop. I stubbornly avert my gaze as he starts to type and click away.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I recognize one of the images that pops up on his screen.

“Rozalia…” the name slips from my lips like a long-lost memory.

“That’s right. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten about my sister.”

“She’s not your sister to me,” I sigh, my crossed arms dropping just a little. “She’s my friend.”

“Best friend, I hear.”

My heart clenches as I remember one of the few good things I left behind.

“Why are you looking her up?” I ask, trying to ignore my complicated history.

“Not her,” Tytus grumbles.

He types some more and an image of Gabriel pops up beside Rozalia’s. They both look so much younger than I’m used to, even if their twisted expressions age them.

They look pissed off. Are these mugshots?

“What are you doing?” I ask, shifting forward to get a closer look. Slowly, curiosity leaks through my stubborn anger.

It’s fascinating to see these two from before they became part of my family. There’s something so dark and gritty about their appearances. Not even their youth can hide all the shit they’ve been through.

“I’m looking for my brother,” Tytus growls.

The sudden anger in his tone takes me by surprise.

“Wouldn’t Gabriel be back in America?” I meekly suggest.

“Not Gabriel.”

“You… you have another brother?”

“That’s right.” With an aggressive click, Tytus brings up another mugshot. “And here he is.”

Despite not recognizing the man in the image, the sight of him still pricks at my skin. A small chill skates up my spine. I lean in for a closer look.

“Alex Whittaker?” I mumble, reading the name written beneath the photograph.

“No, that was just an alias we used for the job,” Tytus explains. “His real name is Krol Cieni—well, that was his real name… or maybe it still is. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

My clenched heart falters.

“Your brother’s dead?”

A frown comes over Tytus’ thick red lips. “If only I knew for sure.”

A sliver of sympathy worms its way through my inner conflict.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “It must be hard, not knowing what’s happened to your brother.”