Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
We slowed our pace as we neared the edge of the bridge near Canal Street.
“Where?” I asked, gasping for breath.
Venezio scanned the streets.
“I’m going to turn away. You hail a cab. Slide in and I’ll follow.”
I remembered the cabbie in Brooklyn who’d taken one look at Venezio and pulled off, not wanting any trouble.
He looked worse now. Blood—both his and the other guy’s—stained his shirt. His knuckles were busted open. And bruises were steadily forming on his handsome face.
I nodded, then moved toward the edge of the sidewalk.
I was sure I wasn’t looking my best either. But women were inherently less of a threat.
I wasn’t surprised when a cab came sloshing over to the sidewalk almost as soon as I put my arm in the air.
As soon as we were in the warmth, I felt like the tightness in my chest intensified.
I shot Venezio a scrunched-brow look when he fed the driver an address different from the one he’d given me when we’d parted at the bridge.
He gave me a little shake of his head, cutting off any follow-up questions I might have had.
I glanced through the plastic partition, watching the shiny screen of the meter as it ticked the time away.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twelve.
Venezio passed cash toward the driver, then slid out onto the sidewalk outside of—what? Was it a doctor’s office?
“Are you hurt?” I asked, whipping back to face him, my hands trying to lift his shirt to get a better look.
His hands grabbed mine to still them.
“Any other time, I’d be happy as fuck to have you undress me, babe. But your hands are icicles. We just need to get inside here.”
With that, we walked up the couple of steps, and Venezio paused at yet another fingerprint scanner. This time, he had to pause to wipe blood off his finger before it would register his print.
With one quick glance behind him to scan the streets, he shuffled us inside, closed, and locked the door.
It was a doctor’s office.
There was a reception desk and a waiting area. Though unlike any doctor’s office I’d been to, this one had fancy chairs and a whole kitchenette available to the waiting room.
Venezio rushed behind the desk, picked up a landline phone, and hit the first button on the speed dial.
Outside, the weather had quieted down the city.
And with nothing inside the building to make a peep, I could make out both sides of the conversation.
“Who’s hurt and how bad?” a voice answered.
“It’s Venezio.”
“Venezio?” the man barked, sounding suddenly very interested. “Everyone’s been trying—”
“Long story. But I’m at your office. Can you spread the word?”
“On it. You okay?”
Venezio exhaled hard.
“Yeah.”
With that, he hung up before reaching for me and pulling me tight against his chest.
His lips pressed to my forehead.
I wanted more than almost anything else to get off my feet now that they were thawing out. But I got the feeling from Venezio’s tight hold on me that this might be the last time we would have a chance to be close like this for a while.
So I ignored the pain and leaned into him, my arms going just as tightly around him.
It felt like he’d just reached for me when there was a beep as the door unlocked.
We broke apart in unison just a second before a man came striding in.
He was a tall and fit man with silver-streaked hair and keen eyes. His gaze slid to Venezio first, taking in the blood, the cuts, the bruises.
Reaching out, he flicked on the light, then cranked up the thermostat.
“Salvatore,” Venezio said, nodding.
Salvatore.
Salvatore “the Surgeon” Costa.
This was the makeshift doctor that he’d mentioned.
Something like awe flooded my system as I watched him notice me. When his gaze tracked down my body, it felt clinical, not intimate.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh.
“What—” Venezio started. But it seemed to click then. His gaze shot to my feet, making my own follow.
I was bleeding through my socks.
“Fuck,” Venezio snapped, reaching for me and scooping me up off my feet in one swift motion, making my belly swoop.
Just then, there was another beep, and then two more men rushed inside the building.
Like Venezio and Salvatore, they were handsome. Unlike Venezio, who was in sweats, and Salvatore, who was in pajamas, these men were in suits. The look made them practically ooze ‘mafia.’
“Venezio,” the man in front with the darker hair said.
“Boss,” Venezio replied. “Just let me get her in an exam room,” he added.
“She okay?” the boss asked, his concerned gaze moving over me.
“For someone who almost died half a dozen times in the past day, yeah. But Sal needs to take care of her feet.”
At that, the boss looked at said feet. Seeing the blood, a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Should I call in Brio?” he asked, looking at Venezio.
I had no idea what that meant, but Venezio gave his boss a tight nod before he fell behind Salvatore as they led me to an exam room.