Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“You think you're untouchable because of your followers?” He spits the last word like it's poison. “This is the real world, pretty boy. Not your fucking screen.”
Now I look at him. Really look at him. I let him see exactly what I am.
“The real world runs on perception,” I say, with enough patience to make him think I’m bored. “And I control perception. A video of your boss leaks. A story about your operations goes viral. By morning, the FBI will be knocking on your door, not because they give a shit, but because millions of people are screaming for them to give a shit.” I tilt my head. “Wanna know why they’re screaming?”
His mouth drops open a little.
I glare at him. “Because I made them scream.”
Silence.
I lean in further. “Why do you think La Maison du Mal is so untouchable?” I raise my brows, pretending I think he has the brains to answer.
The other suit at Carmine's side shuffles, his unease crawling through the low bass of whatever song is playing.
My mouth curls. “Because while you lot were measuring each other's cocks for generations, we hid in the fog, building aliases that would last wars. We didn't just think about money, fucking drugs, or any of the other trades we ran. We thought of the bigger picture.”
The kid's face falls.
“You know who I am?” I ask, more because I’m enjoying this too much.
He snarls, leaning back in his chair. He's got balls, I'll give him that. It's a prerequisite for the job.
My smirk deepens. “So you know just how deceptive I can be.”
Carmine studies me for a long moment. Then he laughs, cutting it short. “You really are Alderic's son.”
My jaw clenches.
“Nah.” I stand, pocketing my phone. “I'm better. For one…” My gaze drifts over each of their faces. Four of them. Enough to take me, especially in their own club.
My eyes settle back on Carmine. “I don't fucking deal with The Cove.”
Their faces pale.
Carmine shoots up from his chair, enough to have his boys flinch in fear.
“Watch your mouth, son. I don't fuck with…”
I raise a hand, shaking my head and cutting him off. “Never said you did. I'm just telling you I'm not like him. From now on, shit is about to change.”
I don't wait for him to answer. As my hand lands on the doorknob, his words stop me. “Heard La Maison du Mal is dealing with inner issues…”
I don't react. That's what they want. They want to see the fractures in a kingdom that has been impenetrable for generations. People don't think of the French when they picture crime families. They picture the Bratva, the 'Ndrangheta. The ones who make noise.
Exactly how we want it.
“The inner issues have been dealt with,” I say over my shoulder, just enough for him to see my smirk. “That's why you're dealing with me now.”
Everything was about to change.
But first, it had to start with her.
Chapter 2
Ivy
Awedding ends with the groom carrying his bride over the threshold to start their happily ever after. Hours spent reciting vows to the man of your dreams, a promise of love through thick and thin.
Except that shit doesn't happen in my life.
So here I am, staring at my reflection and seriously considering downing another three Xanax. Marriage. This is the part most people look forward to, right? Fuck the million dollars spent watching families fight over who loves whom more.
Mine wouldn't bother.
I swallow the pill, hissing at the powdery residue coating my throat. My fingers squeeze the bathroom counter, but not even the cool ceramic grounds me. Smooth. Cold. Hard. Fragile.
Most would be high on love right now, but love? Love wasn’t something I wanted or craved.
Tossing the silk dress into the hamper, I crank the shower handle until steam fills the small room and slip beneath the rain of water.
Breathe in. Out.
After scrubbing my body until it stings, I swipe away the condensation from the mirror. For a moment, I don’t see the woman. The one who has long, dark hair that curls at the ends and skin that tans easily in the sun. The woman whose eyes hold every shade of green and the ghosts of a child who had no one to trust.
I see the girl who fought to get here. Maybe that’s why I don’t believe in love. Because every person who was supposed to love me ended up disappointing me in some way.
Moving my hair over my shoulder, the diamond on my finger catches the overhead light. Most would call it beautiful. It’s more like overcompensation. A diamond this sparkly and big is nothing more than a giant red flag.
I open the door onto a shadow that’s blocking the light from the hallway. He seems bigger. Scarier. It’s an illusion, just like love. Just like this ring. He’s not big, or scary. It’s just a small doorway.