Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I have a feeling that last part is actually true, even though I’m making this up on the fly.
“Stefania,” he says, sounding panicked. “You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m sick of sitting around inside. Get some more guys and follow me if you have to, but I’m going for a stupid walk, and I’m finding a coffee shop. I don’t care if this is reckless and irresponsible. I’m a damn person and I want to be treated like one.”
I reach the roadwork sign feeling pretty good about my speech. I’m a glorious few steps from freedom. The city practically vibrates with anticipation around me: normal people are walking along the other side of the road, a nice young couple, the bald guy and the girl in a cute dress, and I want to shout at them, hey fucklechucks, look at me, I’m a normal person too, except anyone that has to say they’re normal probably isn’t normal, and definitely normal people don’t yell at strangers. But still, I’m elated, and I take another step forward, then another step.
That’s when the truck comes to a screaming halt in the street. My mouth drops open and my hands fly up to my chest as my heart tries to cartwheel its way into the gutter.
“Your husband’s already on the way,” Matty says, sounding sheepish.
The truck door bangs open and Davide marches out. I take a few steps backwards, back over the invisible line into the oasis, but he keeps on coming until he’s leaning over me with a snarl on his face.
“Why the fuck did my men call to tell me that my wife is causing trouble? Do you have any idea how busy I am today?”
I blink rapidly at him. Davide’s forehead is sweaty like he’s been working out and there’s something red staining his shirt. He’s not wearing a jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up, and more red stuff is under his fingernails. I’ve been around my brothers enough to recognize blood—and a lot of it.
“Where were you just now?” I ask very softly. A normal person might feel sick right now. A normal person might be disgusted that their husband is covered in blood. I want to find that nice young couple and beg them to understand. I was raised like this! I’m totally normal, I swear! But they’d just scream and run away.
Because the sight of a frenzied, bloody man doesn’t make me bat an eye, which says a lot about my deeply scarred psyche.
“This wasn’t about you,” I say and make myself sound braver than I feel. “I needed some air.”
“Get it inside the boundaries of the oasis. Do not make my men risk their lives and yours because you want some air.” He grabs my arm and I try to jerk away, but his grip is iron. I expect him to yank me back to the house, but instead he takes me to his truck and pulls me in after him.
Matty stands by, looking smug. The little fucker.
“You know, some women like the whole possessive-caveman routine, but I’m not one of them.”
He grunts in my face as he buckles me in. Safety first and all. His hands graze my body as he does it, and I feel a sharp tingle in my stomach as I recall everything we did the night before and what he can do with those fingers, despite the way they smell like copper and iron.
“Liar,” he says, his mouth lingering near my neck. I want him to bite it. I want him to kiss my lips and swell them. Instead, he gets behind the wheel and drives.
“What were you doing just now?” I ask him, flustered and annoyed. I don’t like the way I get all needy at the slightest hint of him coming close enough to touch.
“There was a problem with a shipment, but we’re solving it.” He stares straight ahead through the windshield. “Your family’s involved.”
I sit up straight. I’ve barely heard from my asshole brothers since coming out here and I still haven’t made up with Giorgia. I’m homesick and desperate for any information about them.
“What happened? Is everyone okay?”
“They’re all fine. A shipment of guns came up short, but I suspect it was Uncle Luciano. Which is actually very bad, because it means he’s got a way of listening to us, or at least he’s watching a lot closer than I expected.”
I shift in my seat and look down at my lap. “My brother wouldn’t betray you guys. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think he would,” Davide says and his tone is gentler, which I appreciate, because I am sitting here wondering if Carlo would dangle me like bait to lull the Bianco Famiglia into complacency and if Renzo would approve it. “There’s a very long and very ugly feud that goes back to my childhood with Uncle Luciano. This all goes back to him.”