Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
When the horse and carriage circle the castle, Camille beams. The twinkling of the fairy lights in her room makes the scene even more magical, and her happiness swells my heart with pride.
“Do you like it?” I ask, fighting not to cry.
She nods so fast that if Dante didn’t know she was awake, he does now.
“Good. I’m glad.”
When I place it on the bedside table, next to a photo of Dante and her, she peers at me as if to say, It’s mine?
I nod.
God, I wish she weren’t so easy to read. She doesn’t need words to communicate. Her expressions tell the entire story.
Why?
“Because…” I try to explain my mistake in a way that won’t dampen her confidence. I love that she has a voice, but I don’t want to be responsible for her getting in trouble for that. The rules governing the mafia differ from those of a standard family. She doesn’t have the same power as those around her, and despite my desire to tell her to pay them no attention, that could cause her more harm than good. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to give away your clothes, Camille. I was being stubborn and… stupid.”
Her brows furrow before she shakes her head.
“You loved those clothes, so you should have kept them. Your daddy bought them for you.”
Her headshake shifts to a nod, and then she walks to the closet. She opens one side, and I gasp. Every outfit we picked today hangs neatly inside, untouched.
“But… I thought…”
She opens the other side of the closet, exposing more clothes. These ones are still in boutique bags, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize what they are. They’re duplicates of the clothes I gave away.
“He bought double?” I whisper, certain my head is playing tricks on me. It’s been a long day, so it’s understandable.
Camille nods proudly, slowly learning how precious her father is. This isn’t something anyone I’ve met in the Cosa Nostra would do. They’d never be so generous.
My eyes sting as I swallow hard, but before I get close to getting a hold of my shock, Dante appears in the doorway. He props his shoulder against the frame, then drifts his eyes to Camille. “You’ll be as grouchy as Uncle Matteo tomorrow if you stay up all night. In bed, young lady.”
Camille gives him the full arsenal—wide eyes, pouty lip, and begging hands.
“I’ve already read you a story. Three, actually.”
Her bottom lip barely drops a smidge before he sighs, defeated. “One story. Then straight to sleep.”
I step back, ready to leave, but Dante’s hand closes around my wrist before I can. My heart thunders as I struggle to clear the effects of the zap rocketing up my arm from his familiar hold before peering up at him. I expect him to be furious that I didn’t keep my promise, but all I see is a silent plea for me to stay.
I do.
Don’t ask me why I fold so easily. I’m too tired to make sense of any of my actions today.
After a thankful squeeze of my hand, Dante sits beside Camille and brushes her hair back from her face before he tells a story about how it’s okay to ask for help. He explains how it can feel weak to admit you’re struggling, but that it isn’t. His voice is low and soothing, the kind that makes you believe every word he speaks.
His story breaks through to a place I boarded up years ago, a place I don’t let anyone touch. It’s so terrifying knowing how easily he can burst through the walls I spent years building that the instant Camille’s breathing slows and her eyes flutter shut, I slip out of her room.
I can’t believe in fairy tales. How could I when my world is full of nothing but trolls, witches, and evil, vile men?
In the kitchen, a film-wrapped plate on the counter stops me in my tracks. A sticky note clings to the top of the steamy food. Its instructions are clear.
Eat.
My heart thuds painfully against my throat. I thought Dante had placed film on it to store it away. I didn’t know he was reheating it for me. I didn’t think I’d still have the right to eat his food after so poorly denying his earlier generosity.
I jump when Dante appears behind me, his steps as silent as a ghost. His eyes drift from the plate of food to me before he whispers, “Not everyone is out to get you, Lucia.” He moves so close, his breaths warm my neck as well as they defrost my snap-frozen heart. “Some people just want to help.”
I want to believe him—God, I do—but Edoardo’s warning won’t quit echoing in my head.
If I tell, he will kill Gabriele.
I have no reason not to believe his threat. Time and time again, he has proven to be a man of his word, and the nightmares that keep me awake every night are the sole reason I’ve continued to sell a piece of my soul month in and month out.