Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“The only problem is, Nico would rather cut out his own eyes than spend his life with me, and I sort of hate him too.”
“Even after what he did for you today?”
I flinch and my hands move up to my neck. Easy, go easy. “Yes, he saved me. But that doesn’t erase everything else.”
“No, maybe not, but it means something. Nico’s your ticket out of this situation, Kar. I know you two have your history, but he clearly doesn’t really hate you if he went out of his way to keep you safe. Just think about it, okay? I don’t want you shipped off to Dallas.”
I grin at him. “Really? You don’t?”
“Of course I fucking don’t, and don’t make me say it again.”
I hop out of bed. He backs away, waving his hands, but I make him give me a hug. My brother hugs me back with a grumble.
“Love you, big bro,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, love you too. Just think about Nico, okay? And tell Fynn not to beat himself up.”
“Fine, so long as you promise to stop blaming yourself, too.”
“I’ll do what I can.” He peels himself away from me and slips out the door.
I watch him go and touch my fingers to my throat.
Marry Nico.
It makes sense.
Papa would accept it—I know he would.
Especially after today, it’s like he can’t say no.
Nico is my logical ticket out of this mess.
And the thought makes me want to curl up in my closet and scream into a pillow. Being married to him will be like throwing myself into the pits of hell. I’ll be tortured for the rest of my life, mercilessly teased, over and over again.
I’m not sure avoiding this Russian is worth that fate.
But it’s strange. I pick up my sketchbook and sit in my reading chair. I open it and flip toward the middle—and stop on a drawing.
It’s Nico in profile.
He’s standing half in the shadows and glaring off into the distance. The background’s barely more than some darkened smudges. There’s so much pain in his expression—he always looks hurt when he thinks nobody’s watching—and I’ve never been able to figure out why.
What’s tearing him up inside? And why does it make him loathe me so much?
I run my fingers down the drawing and the charcoal smears.
The thought of being married to him doesn’t leave me trembling and nervous like it did with Rinaldo. Yes, I definitely don’t want to be dragged over hot coals by Nico for the rest of my pitiful existence—but if I’m honest with myself, the image of being his wife doesn’t freak me out.
Which leaves me trapped.
The Russian and exile or Nico and torture.
I’m not sure which one’s worse or if I’m even in the right mind to make that decision.
But I don’t have much time to think.
Chapter 10
Karah
My brothers come, one after the other. Casso’s a rage-filled mess. Fynn tries to hide it, but he hates and blames himself.
We talk around the issue and it’s mostly awful, but I love them for trying.
Even Papa pays me a visit. He seems incapable of going into specifics, but I can tell he’s extremely angry about what happened. “Nico will handle this,” he says as he hugs me tightly. “Let Nico take care of it.”
I ask him about the Russian, but he refuses to talk about it.
When he leaves, I’m all alone for the night, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or terrified.
I can’t sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Rinaldo laughing as he tries to choke me to death. Sometimes it’s Rinaldo, but sometimes it’s Papa, grinning the whole time. That dream haunts me, and that jolt of memory that rushed back during the attack keeps drifting in and out of my mind like lightning.
I feel unhinged and shattered and I can’t close my eyes for longer than five seconds before the bad thoughts invade again.
I slip out of bed and pull on a hoodie before I sneak downstairs.
It’s after midnight and the staff is gone for the evening, but I hear Casso in the rec room drinking and playing pool with Finn and Gavino, and I’m sure Papa’s awake somewhere pacing around and cursing at his men on the phone.
I hesitate at the back door. I want to sit by the pool and watch the water, but someone’s standing beside it staring out at the desert.
It takes a moment for me to recognize Nico, and a strange thrill spikes in my stomach as I step outside and go to him.
This is a bad idea, but my feet keep moving. It’s like I’m floating and unable to stop myself.
Things are too fresh.
I’m still upset over what happened and I need more time to heal.
But I’m desperate. The fact that Papa wouldn’t talk about the Russian means he’s going to do exactly what I predicted. Papa could’ve said he’d give me more time—but he didn’t.