Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
My mouth refuses to work. Whatever words I’d prepared myself to say, sink deep into the back of my mind. Zane holds me tightly to his side as he gives Xander a weary look before guiding us into the mansion.
This has to be a trap. No way am I this man’s sister. I don’t have to know all that he’s done to know that he’s a man of power and evil. He might have treated me nice while I was here, but I’ve heard enough stories. He’s the head of a notorious and ruthless crime family, after all. It’s not like he’s Santa Claus.
Zane guides me into the house and through the massive foyer, and I’m in awe of the beauty of the house. Ella isn’t just a sweet person but also has excellent taste in decorations.
I try not to think about how fucked up that is as Zane moves us into a small seating area off the dining room. There’s a floor to ceiling bookshelf on one side of the room and a leather sofa and two chairs centered around a small wooden table on the other. Two huge windows make the room feel bigger than it is.
Zane navigates us to the sofa while Xander takes the chair across from us.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Xander asks.
“Water,” I croak. I’m not sure what’s going on. He called me his sister, but that can’t be right. Matteo never talked about me having any other siblings.
Xander disappears from the room and returns with a glass of water a moment later. He hands it to me, and I take a sip before placing it on the table in front of me.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I’ll tell you what I know first, and then you can ask me anything that you want to okay?” Though Xander’s voice still toes the line on menacing, there is a softness to it.
“When Ivan brought you here last time, you looked so familiar to me, but in a way that didn’t make sense. You looked a lot like my mother, and I couldn’t figure out why. I asked your age for a reason. My mother supposedly died twenty-two years ago, so when you told me you were twenty-one, I didn’t think it could be true. Still, something in my gut told me to keep digging, thinking we might be related in a different way. Distant cousins at the very least. Instead, I found out that our mother didn’t die when I thought she did. She left when she discovered she was pregnant with you.”
I try to swallow, but the salvia in my mouth feels like concrete. A sense of Deja vu sets in. I’ve been here before, rescued from Christian, then being told I have some long-lost relatives. It didn’t work out for me last time, so no surprise that I’m not happy about this new development. For now, I keep my thoughts to myself and listen instead of speaking.
“Our mother had you without any prenatal care, and by herself. There is no record of you ever being born, and you were never given a birth certificate. Police found you in a hotel room crying when you were about two, our mother dead from a drug overdose.”
My hand tightens in Zane’s, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I have two brothers, maybe more I haven’t met yet. All of them seem to be part of the mafia. On top of that, I have a father who is part of the mafia but not the same family.
My mother had an affair, ran away, and gave birth to me, god knows where, before deciding, later on, it was too hard to love and care for me. At this point, I truly do feel as broken as I look. Unwanted and unloved. It’s the story of my life.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the wetness against my cheeks. I look from the ground and over to Zane, hoping he didn’t know. He knows everything about me, surely, he knew about this. Still, a tiny piece of me hopes he didn’t know. When our eyes clash, I know instantly that he did, and like a plane, I nosedive right into the ground.
“I didn’t know until a few days ago,” Zane whispers, trying to reassure me. It’s like I’m being cornered, all my fears and worries bombarding me at once.
“There’s more,” Xander says in a monotone voice.
“What more could there be?” I whisper though I had hoped the words would come out stronger. I feel weak and broken inside. It’s strange because I knew most of the story. It’s harsh to know I spent my entire life in foster care when I had family, a family that is wealthy, and that I could’ve been living with. Even if they are ruthless criminals, family is family, right?