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)
“No!” His voice bellows over the sudden return of the noisy city. It is clear and commanding. He’s used to giving orders and having people follow them. He isn’t accustomed to being denied, but I have no other option. I can’t push against the restraints if I want any chance of keeping karma on my side.
The conductor’s last whistle redirects my focus away from the stranger’s sudden fury and sees me sprinting toward the station’s entrance.
My shoes slip on the wet pavement, but my speed remains unchecked. I hear the stranger chasing after me, his footsteps growing more insistent the longer we run, but I pretend not to because my emotions are too raw right now for any good to come from the carnage.
I reach the platform as the doors commence closing. With a final burst of energy, I leap inside the train car, nearly stumbling into the arms of a startled commuter.
The doors slide shut behind me, sealing me off from the world outside—and from him.
As the train jolts forward, carrying me away from the station and the stranger’s lingering watch, I fight like hell to catch my breath. That was thrilling, but not in a way that’s easy to explain. My panties are drenched, and a nice thrumming sensation is running rampant through my core, but I’m also sick with worry about how much I enjoyed his chase.
We all want to be loved to the point of insanity, but again, I shouldn’t be wanting that from a taken man.
6
GIOVANNI
Iran. I really fucking ran. My shoes pounded the pavement as ruefully as my heart thundered against my ribs, and my lungs burned from the effort of my sprint. I haven’t run like that since I was a boy dodging my brothers’ lemon bombs in the orchard that surrounds our childhood home.
I’m not a boy anymore, and this isn’t a game, but I’ll admit the thrill of the chase is sending a hot buzz of electricity straight to my balls. Usually, I say jump and everyone asks how high. No one has ever challenged me like Valentina just did, so although part of me is furious she denied my direct order, my grin while chasing her through the streets of Palermo was anything but threatening.
I almost caught her. I’d reached the platform just as the train doors shut with Valentina on one side and me on the other.
“Stop the train!” I shouted, slamming my palm against the glass of the ticket box while ignoring the startled glances of the station staff and a handful of late-night commuters. “Open the doors! Now!”
A uniformed attendant approached me with his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Mi dispiace, signor. It doesn’t work like that. Once the doors are closed, the train is gone. Next stop is Carlisle.”
And in that precise moment, I realized my chase wasn’t over.
I’ve found men who didn’t want to be found, money that vanished into shadows, and traitors who thought they could outrun the consequences of their actions in Carlisle. Compared to those, finding one woman should be easy. Especially since I know exactly where the chase will recommence.
I turn on my heel, smile blazing, and sprint back down the entry stairs of the station. With the engine running and headlights slicing through the mist, my SUV waits at the curb. My driver, a nervous teen with more loyalty than sense, is already out of the car, holding open the back driver’s side door for me.
After sidestepping him, I slot into the driver’s seat. The leather is warm from our hours’ long wait today, and the stitching on the embossed steering wheel scratches my palm when I grip it firmly.
The train from Palermo to Carlisle is fast, but I doubt it has anything on my determination.
“Signor Caruso…” The driver’s brows crinkle as he shifts from foot to foot. His panic is understandable. Disappointing me usually only ends one way. With death. “Should I have stayed with Ms. Valeria?”
Valeria? Fuck. For a second, lifelong responsibilities derail my plans. Valeria’s name evokes obligations and deals struck while pacing the hallway outside my father’s deathbed.
He’s dying. We all know it, though no one is game to say it aloud. The doctors stopped pretending months ago, and not long later, the house filled with the rancid scent of impending loss.
Our father made me the man I am today, and although at times his demands are tough, he’s only ever wanted what is best for his sons.
His dying wish is to orchestrate one last act of control before the curtain falls.
“Giovanni, you’re the eldest, so the family’s future rests on your shoulders.” If the burden of the business he built from nothing weren’t already enough, he reminded me months ago that this has always been about more than power and money for him. It’s a legacy. “It’s my hope to see my sons wed before I go and to meet the grandchildren who will carry the Caruso name into the next century.”