Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Calm down.” She drops her arms. “Since when can’t I call a spade a spade?”
“You’re vulgar.”
“I’m honest.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t have time for your games. Scott killed Jerry because we had to show the world no one messes with one of us, and Valentina is one of us. Giving her a car was as good as messing with you or me. The next time she runs, her friends will think twice about aiding her in her silly quests.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“It better not. It won’t look good for you if your own wife runs away.” She walks back to her chair and sits down. “Anything else?”
My words are measured. “Not today.”
“Good. Now get out of my hair. I have work to do.”
At the door, I say over my shoulder, “Oh, by the way, Scott has a couple of broken fingers.”
The charcoal lines around her eyes crinkle. “That was a childish thing to do.”
“He may also have a few broken ribs.” The words give me enormous satisfaction. “If he ever gatecrashes one of my parties again, on your invitation or not, he won’t leave alive.” I wink. “Keep that in mind if you value him as a member of your staff.”
Her eyes are spitting venom as I shut the door.
In my study at home, I add Jerry’s Monopoly cat to my jar of charms. One for each life I’ve taken. I may not have pulled the trigger, today, but the intention was there. In my book, intention is as good as action.
The jar is disturbingly full. It sits on the corner of my desk to remind me of who I am. I can put a face to every memento in that jar. I tell myself every one of them was justified, a necessary kill in this constant war of survival, but I’m losing my appetite for the killing. My path has been set, and I’ve been following it as my heritage demands. With this new path I’m walking with Valentina, it feels as if I’m veering farther and farther away from where I came. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, but I know I can’t go back. I want to walk this road with her too much, her and my baby.
The afternoon drags on with affairs that keep me occupied until late, and when I finally pull into Sylvia’s driveway it’s close to seven. Dinner is served at eight. I’m hoping the get the big talk with Carly out of the way before we sit down for the meal.
Sylvia waits at the door, a hand on her hip. “Hey, Gab. Gabriel,” she corrects, catching herself. Her smile is sweet and filled with the womanly self-assurance of someone who knows she’s physically desirable. “You had me wondering about this hasty dinner all day.”
“I didn’t mean to give you extra work.”
She laughs softly and holds out a hand for my jacket. “Don’t fret. My cook did all the work.” She deposits the jacket on the coat stand. “Are you going to tell me the reason we’re having dinner with Carly, or are you going to make me sweat it out another hour?”
“Where’s Carly?” I look around the foyer and up the staircase. I don’t want my daughter to overhear anything prematurely.
“In her room. I’ll call her down in a second. Shall we have a drink?”
She’s already on her way to the lounge. I follow, looking around the foreign space. I’ve been in Sylvia’s house a few times, but it still feels unfamiliar. Overly stuffy. Too perfectly decorated. No pets, books, or shoes lying around. Nothing to hint at life. Carly’s toys were never splayed on our stairs or even the playroom carpet. Will Valentina allow life into our home? My chest fills with something warm and light as I picture trains, fire engines, and stuffed toys littering our floors.
“Here you go.” She hands me a glass of Scotch on the rocks and takes one for herself, which she clinks to mine. “Now, tell me the purpose of this secretive family meeting.”
It’s probably better that I prepare her before I speak to Carly. I mull over the words, but there’s no easy way of saying it. Finally, I settle for short and sweet. “Valentina and I got married yesterday.”
Her hand stills with the glass halfway to her mouth, her red nail varnish standing out against the white of her skin where she grips the tumbler. Her eyes grow large, and her lips thin.
“She’s going to have my baby.”
Pulling back her arm, she slaps me across the cheek. I saw the blow coming. I could’ve stopped it, but I allowed her the violence as an outlet for her shock.
“You son of a bitch. How dare you humiliate our family like this?” Her voice rises. “You married the maid?”
“You know making her our maid was Magda’s idea of getting the payback she believed we deserved.”