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)
“You have five seconds to remove that from your phone,” I say slowly, eyes locked on the screen, “or I’ll ensure that your respect for women grows tenfold with one bullet.”
He tests the authenticity of my threat with a mocking smirk. “And how the fuck will you achieve that without breaking the rules? You can’t kill me, Dante. There are rules not even you can ignore.”
“I didn’t mention anything about killing you. Yet.” My last word is for me, but he hears it. “But I don’t need to kill you to make your life miserable.”
I move close enough that he finally loses his smile before I grab his belt buckle, yank him forward, and then stab the barrel of my gun into his groin. “There’s barely anything there as it is, so I doubt there’ll be anything left once I’m done with you.”
He’s scared now. Fucking petrified.
Good.
“Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you get to fuck with her life. It doesn’t give you permission to collect pieces of her soul like souvenirs.” He whimpers when I dig my gun in far enough for his cock to wilt—like it can get any smaller. “And it sure as fuck doesn’t give you permission to taunt her into thinking she needs scum like you in her life to get by.”
His confidence is smashed to smithereens, but he continues to push.
It’s understandable when he exposes the hand he’s holding.
It’s a royal fucking flush.
“You’re right. But considering the world we live in, and that she’s my wife, I’m sitting fairly pretty right now. Wouldn’t you say, Dante?”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
His claim changes everything.
We’ve governed by the rules that brought the Cosa Nostra back from its deathbed after internal conflicts almost wiped out every family from the map in 1981. Those rules explicitly state I can’t touch another sanctioned man’s wife. Rival or not.
I glance toward the diner window where my daughter’s silhouette and the woman who makes her life simpler just by existing are reflected. Then I look back at Edoardo.
I hear Giovanni’s growl from here when I say three words that could destroy the Caruso dynasty. “Name your price.”
Chapter 19
Lucia
The faint bitterness of coffee left on the warmer too long drifts into my nostrils as the sizzle of an overworked griddle chops up the chatter of weekend customers. Camille sits across from me, her posture slouched as she tackles a stack of pancakes bigger than her head. Her tapping fingers convey her excitement at being out on her own. Well, as alone as anyone can be with a stone-faced bodyguard a few feet away, monitoring your every move.
Cradling my mug, I pretend the coffee tastes better than it does while trying not to dwell on the fact that Dante didn’t walk in with her. Camille arrived alone.
I’m still trying to understand his actions when the entry doorbell chimes, and Dante walks in.
The moment I see him, my stomach mimics a washing machine. He carries tension as if it’s strapped to his spine. Every line of his body is stretched tight, his shoulders are stiff under his jacket, and the deep groove between his brows looks like it’s been there for hours, maybe even days.
His narrowed eyes sweep over the diner. When they land on me, a muscle in his jaw spasms and my stomach flips.
He doesn’t greet me with a smile, nor does he bother to pretend he’s happy to see me.
With clipped, lengthened strides, he approaches the booth, stops at the table, and without a word, pulls a folded stack of bills from his pocket and drops it beside Camille’s plate.
The money slaps the table, jolting Camille so much that her fork halts midair.
“It’s time to go, Camille.” Dante’s voice is rough, grinded down by anger before he could free them.
Camille freezes, her eyes widening as she shakes her head.
The line between Dante’s brows deepens when his expression stiffens. “Camille, we need to go.” His tone is softer but no less firm.
She denies his command again, this time more insistent. She presses her lips together as she fights not to release the wetness in her eyes.
Seeing her on the verge of tears affects me more than I can explain. It twists my heart before launching it into my throat.
Mindful that he taught his daughter not to cower to intimidation, Dante bobs down and then lowers his voice even further. “It’s time for us to go.”
Her throat works hard to swallow, and for several seconds, her features twist with indecision. She wants to cry or run. Or perhaps even both.
I can’t stand the thought of either, so before I can stop myself, an offer spills from my lips. “She can stay with me for a little while.” I strive to sound casual, even with my pulse thundering in my ears. “I was thinking about going to the park, so it won’t be any bother.”