Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Why?” I ask, certain that the world’s most eligible bachelor would pale in comparison to him in any room, so why bother?
“Because...”
I wait and wait and wait for him to complete his reply.
He never does.
Instead, he curls his hand over mine and drags me out of the room. We walk through the Caruso mansion in silence until we reach a sunlit dining room.
The room buzzes with electric chemistry when we enter. A long wooden table has at least a dozen people scattered around it, yet it somehow feels warm and homely. There’s laughter, clinking cutlery, and the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
My stomach grumbles.
I’ve not eaten anything since lunch yesterday.
His strides don’t slacken until we reach a Viking-sized table. The only time he slows is when he reaches over a man’s shoulder to steal strips of bacon off his plate. The handsome man with hair just as dark as Matteo’s and an aura of authority swats at him while muttering something in Italian under his breath. Matteo just grins before handing half his stash to me.
While I munch on salty strips of lard, Matteo guides me to the end of the long table, where a dark-haired man and a blonde woman sit close together. The woman shifts uncomfortably amid the opulence, but she glows with genuine happiness while studying the drawing a dark-haired girl proudly shows her.
The girl sits at the head of the table, occupying a chair that signals authority even when unoccupied. She’s sitting in the hierarchy’s seat like her childhood won’t mimic mine.
I briefly wonder how my life might have differed had I not grown up in the Turkish mafia. If my father had ever allowed me to sit on his chair, my life plan might not have included vengeance and manipulation.
Matteo stops beside them.
“Dante. Lucia,” he says, his voice smooth. “This is Azra.”
The man—Dante—raises a brow, as if he’s heard my name before. When his eyes lower to where Matteo’s hand is still wrapped around mine, Matteo and I pull away.
Our actions only cock Dante’s brow higher.
Lucia smiles warmly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Azra.” She turns to face the little girl gazing up at me. “This is Dante’s”—she hesitates for just a moment—“our daughter, Camille,” she finishes, gesturing toward the little girl. The “our” catches in her throat, as if she’s still getting used to saying it.
The girl beams up at me before holding out her drawing. I lean in and freeze. The picture is unexpected. I’ve never attended a strip club, but I am reasonably sure that’s the premise of her drawing. The silver pole in the center of the image is extremely telling.
I school my expression before anyone notices.
Lucia is too receptive. “It’s a long story.”
Matteo clears his throat before adding to the awkwardness lingering in the air. “And the exact reason we’re here. Lucia has access to a heap of slutty, heart-attack-inspiring dresses.”
Lucia narrows her eyes, ready to bite back. Before she can react, Dante says, “If you ever use Lucia’s name and slutty in the same sentence again, I’ll gut you where you stand.”
His tone is too smooth for me to know if he’s being playful or serious.
I assume the former when Matteo winks, loving that he’s ruffled his feathers.
Lucia laughs softly, touching Dante’s arm. “Ignore them. Dante thinks any dress that isn’t ankle-length is scandalous.” Dante mutters something that sounds suspiciously like agreement. “And Matteo thinks a handkerchief is classy.”
Matteo’s agreeing murmur mimics Dante’s, and I stop looking for similarities. Aside from their eye color, they share many qualities. If they’re not brothers, I didn’t pledge earlier to take care of the tingles still running rampant through me the instant I’m alone in the shower.
“I also had access to…”—Lucia chooses her words wisely—“a slew of enticing dresses. I don’t anymore.”
Dante gleams like a pig in mud as he tosses a key to Matteo. “There are plenty of suitable clothes in Camille’s room. Closet’s full.”
Camille? As in his daughter, who can’t be older than five?
Lucia cuts in before I can get over my shock. “Actually, I got rid of the clothes you bought me, remember? I gave them to that homeless lady.”
She’s a terrible liar. Truly awful. Her eyes dart, and her voice hitches. Dante, however, doesn’t call her out. Surprisingly, he goes along with her deception.
“That’s right. I forgot about that.”
Lucia gives him a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth look before she locks eyes with Matteo. “But there’s a boutique in town that’ll be perfect to get Azra some new outfits. It’s high-end and discreet.”
Dante tries to pluck the key out of Matteo’s hand when he slowly bobs his head, on board with Lucia’s plan, but Matteo slides it into his jeans pocket before he can.
“We’ll visit the boutique after breakfast.”
Before I can respond, he pulls out a chair and places it beside Camille, near the end of the table.