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)
Under the streetlight illuminating the unmanned SUV, I make a vow I’ll die upholding.
Valeria marked Valentina, so now I’ll mark a headstone with her name.
28
VALENTINA
I’ve been pacing so long a rug worth thousands now feels tatty under my feet. It’s been over two hours since Matteo hauled me out of the pub like a sack of flour, and I still can’t breathe right. My chest hurts, and my throat is raw from how many times I’ve swallowed the panic bubbling up my esophagus.
I regret not fighting harder to make sure Giovanni knew my exchange with Valeria didn’t rattle me, but Matteo didn’t give me a choice. One second, I was standing. The next, I was over his shoulder. I begged for the chance to tell my side, but Giovanni didn’t hear a word I spoke. He was deafened by rage.
Now I’m confined in a room like a Disney princess. It should feel safe, but it doesn’t.
It feels like a cage.
Hunger and unease churn my stomach, but the tray Dante sent sits untouched on Giovanni’s desk. The bread and soup could settle my flipping stomach, but it’s such a twisted mess I’m scared to fill it with food.
I’d hate for anyone to mistake the reason I’m sick.
Flattening my palms against the dresser, I try to level my breaths, hopeful some air will stop me from pacing. It doesn’t work. My pulse drums my ribs too fast to ignore, and the walls creep closer every time I stop wearing a hole in the rug.
As I continue pacing, I replay the expression that crossed Giovanni’s face when he saw Valeria’s marks. Anger wasn’t the only source of his fury. Something darker and more sinister had the room holding its breath like a chemical weapon had detonated in the pub.
If only Valeria hadn’t worn those stupid charms. We could have avoided all this if she had been a little less vain.
Anyone would swear she wanted me to carry her marks. If that was her plan, she’s more foolish than beautiful. She’d have to know how Giovanni would respond. I had an inkling, and I’ve only known him for weeks. Why do you think I wore a long-sleeved shirt on an extremely humid day?
Giovanni and Valeria have known each other for over two decades, so her imprudence makes no sense… unless she wants a war.
Further deliberation is cut short by a rattling doorknob.
My head snaps up so fast my neck aches. It’s most likely Dante. He’s checked on me a few times and constantly assures me everything will be fine, even though it feels anything but.
It’s funny. Dante was thrown into fatherhood without preparation, but his instincts are natural. His protectiveness is as relentless as Giovanni’s. Nico and Elio are the more reserved of the brothers, and Matteo has the restless energy of a crack addict. Therefore, if I have to put money on who’s coming through the door, I’ll only ever wager on Dante.
Faster than I can blink, the door shoots open, and then a flurry of brown tumbles into my room. My breath snags when my eyes land on the shuddering lump indenting the plush rug I wore down.
I take a step back, then another, until my back flattens against the wall.
My caller isn’t Dante.
It’s Giovanni.
And he isn’t alone.
Valeria is a quivering bag of nerves at his feet.
Afraid I might fall, I grip the wall so hard my nails scratch the paintwork. My legs feel like Jell-O, and my breathing is frantic enough to cave my chest in.
Giovanni’s face appears carved from a rock, and his dark, stormy eyes are unreadable. Heat rolls off him like a furnace, making the room stuffy and uninviting.
I shoot my hand up to cover my mouth when he fists Valeria’s hair before yanking it back to align her eyes with mine. Not even the bruise circling her eye can hide the fact she’s been crying. I wish that was the worst of it. Her top lip is split open, and blood is pooling under her nose.
I refuse to believe Giovanni is responsible for her injuries, but the evidence is a little hard to discount. His fury hasn’t weakened the slightest since I last saw him. It’s radiating out of him in invisible waves.
Giovanni’s gravelly tone slices through the silence. “Apologize.”
Like she isn’t at his feet, peering down the barrel of a gun, Valeria’s chin tilts as if she’s better than this. Her smile is gone, wiped by the blood trickling over her lips, but her eyes are still mocking.
“Apologize!” Giovanni roars again, his tug on her hair cruel.
She whimpers when no number of shouts have her mistaking her roots being plucked from her scalp. Then, slowly, like this is an inconvenience, she drifts her eyes to me.
“I’m sorry.” Her words are brittle, as if she forced them through a batch of vomit. They fall flat and do nothing to dispel Giovanni’s anger.