Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I need to get her out of my fucking head, and I know the perfect place to achieve that.
Several miles later, the lights of Carlisle brighten as the entertainment district stretches ahead. Tourists and locals spill from bars and music halls, chasing the thrill sometimes only a seedy nightclub can offer.
Laughter tangled with bass lines carries through the air in a silent promise that anything is possible before sunrise, yet I move through the disorder with a completely different purpose.
I study every face, seeking that one in a million.
This wasn’t the plan when I left San Giorgio’s. I was meant to go home, get shitfaced with my brothers, and pretend the world doesn’t exist.
A burning tide of anger crashes into me. My lifestyle has no patience for weakness. My father raised me on that truth, and I’ve enforced it myself more times than I care to admit. In our world, the second you let your guard slip, someone is behind you with a knife and a smile.
And yet here I am, losing focus over a woman I barely spoke five words to.
I’d stop the insanity if I could, but obsession is an incurable addiction. There’s no quick-fix solution—except another hit.
The irritation prickling my skin eases as I visualize the reward of my hard work. Valentina’s body will be the perfect canvas to rectify the injustices I’ve faced. I’ll take my time with her, savoring every luscious curve while reminding her how she can’t outrun her consequences any easier than she can outrun me.
Halfway down the neon-lit tide, my phone rings again. Not wanting to have my ass chewed out for being a lovesick chump, I jab the call button before telling Nico that business will have to wait until the morning.
“I’m fucking wrecked.”
“Glad someone’s finally admitting it,” replies a voice I immediately recognize. It doesn’t belong to Nico.
Although grateful Dante has finally reached out, something is off with his tone. “Camille…”
“Is tucked up in bed.” His tone is nothing like it usually is when speaking about his daughter. It’s urgent and brimming with angst. “You need to come home. Now. Dad’s taken a bad turn.”
His last sentence smacks into me, landing like a punch to the gut, and I forget everything not associated with the founder of my very existence. The deals. The frustration. Valentina. None of them matter right now.
“I’m on my way.”
I slam my foot down on the gas pedal, and the SUV’s engine roars as I tear through Carlisle faster than I ever have before.
5
VALENTINA
The day I’ve been waiting for and also dreading has finally arrived. Today is the day I trade a portion of my soul for the money I hope will save my mother’s life. I aced the genetic testing that would have taken me back to square one if they’d found anything awry, signed the consent forms that announced more than my dignity is on the line today, and read every scrap of information I could find about the egg retrieval procedure. I know how they will use my eggs and the anonymity on offer, yet it still feels clinical.
I never thought I’d ever give away a part of me for money. This afternoon, I’m not solely donating cells. I am sacrificing a piece of my future I may never achieve.
Although it hurts to consider a part of myself existing with no awareness of my presence, prioritizing additional time for my mother is what truly matters. The benefits I might receive could exceed what I’m about to lose.
The treatment my donation will fund could save my mother’s life.
That hope is the sole thing keeping my resolve intact.
Will I regret this down the track? Possibly. But I need more than air to ensure my mother will be here to celebrate any children I may have.
As I dress, I remind myself why I’m doing this. It isn’t for me. It’s dedicated to my mom, who raised me on her own and provided me with a fantastic childhood.
Though my wardrobe selections are minimal, I choose comfort over style, mindful that some discomfort is typical during egg donation. I intend to look presentable, even if my shaky knees give away my true composure.
After changing into a loose-fitting skirt and top, I enter the bathroom recently vacated by my aunt and mom and attempt to tame my wild hair into submission. They believe that I’m traveling to Palermo for a job interview. They’re clueless that the handful of pounds I put on is from the medication required to stimulate more eggs during ovulation. Someday, I’ll tell them about the procedure, but not until my mother’s latest health battle is over.
My reflection in the vanity mirror is pale. Dark circles now ring my caramel eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the fluid I’m retaining has blanched my rounded cheeks. The pamphlets I received during my first appointment at the IVF clinic state that the weight gain shouldn’t last. It typically sorts itself out when the donation cycle ends.