Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
The total silence only grated on him and set Giancarlo on edge. Ezio, his youngest brother, was the only one who usually managed to get past his security measures. But perhaps Tueur was just as good as staying invisible?
Jealousy clawed at his chest as sickening images from Giancarlo's nightmares started playing back in his mind.
Sarica in a shower with Tueur—-
Sarica moaning the other man's name—-
And Tueur smiling at him as he made Giancarlo's girl come.
He wanted to smash his fist against the desk.
Punch another hole in the wall.
Anything to unleash the violence inside of him.
But this time...Giancarlo did none of it.
This time, even though despair and hopelessness still held him back—-
He was able to hear God's voice a little more clearly this time.
And it was enough to help Giancarlo hold back and stay still.
One day at a time.
That was the only kind of hope Giancarlo could give himself.
One day, he would learn to forget her again.
And then he could go back to simply...existing.
"Sir?"
His security chief had entered his office.
"Should we continue surveillance?"
"Yes."
Because it would always be Giancarlo's responsibility to keep Sarica safe...even when she was no longer his.
His security chief left, and he was alone again in his office. He rose to his feet and gazed out of his window. The earthy splendor of Kivr's capital was impossible to deny, but it was the wintry beauty of Boston that his heart bled for. The people of this kingdom had been good to him, but it was his people—-his famiglia—-that his soul longed for.
I want to go back, God.
You can.
But how?
How can I go back when I'll never be whole again?
SARICA TILTED HER FACE toward the sun, letting the warmth sink into her skin. Kivr's capital was a fascinating blend of old and new. Skyscrapers rising behind ancient stone walls. Wide streets shared by both camel caravans and sports cars. And women in either traditional robes or dresses launched in the most recently concluded Fashion Week in Paris.
There was so much to look at and admire, but because she was now an adult in her mid-twenties—-
Grrrr.
Her mind only had space for the Prince of Killers, who had not refrained from biting her head off in the video message he had sent her this morning.
To my most pathetic student to date.
Just recalling her fighting coach's first line had Sarica's teeth gnashing against each other. Since it was Maryse who had referred her to the Prince of Killers, she should have expected Dauphin to be just as "tactful" as the former Angel of Death.
Not.
The video message had lasted for only two minutes, but to Sarica, it had seemed like eternity, with the Prince of Killers spending every second pinpointing her every flaw.
You should head out to the nearest Lost and Found office in your area.
Because your self-worth has gone missing.
My wife is a saint. So of course she would give you permission to book a suite under my name.
She will think you are doing so for your safety, but we both know the truth.
You want to make your man jealous...because you have become a coward.
I expect more from you, Sarica.
I taught you better than this.
You are to face your problems head on and not hide or run away.
You must fight with the truth, even if it is only your heart - and not your life - at stake.
Sarica's phone buzzed at that moment, and a grimace touched her lips when she saw it was another video message, this time from Maryse. Since she was sure it would have the same browbeating content as Dauphin's—-
Never mind.
She would just listen to it later.
Like, maybe 5,000 years later.
She had better things to do with her time, such as moping and moping and...oh, coffee!
It was the scent that distracted her first, which eventually drew her to a boutique café tucked between a bridal dress shop and a mom-and-pop business selling handmade nougats. Its covered terrace offered a picturesque view of Kivr's most exclusive shopping district while delicate brass ceiling fans spun out a subtle beat that was almost hypnotic.
While searching for a vacant table, a movement caught her eye, and Sarica wondered if she had started to hallucinate.
She blinked several times, but the illusion didn't go away.
It really was her, Sarica realized in shock.
Her dark hair was now corn wheat gold. Her near-black eyes were now blue. Her lightly tanned skin was now like ivory. But despite all of these superficial differences, Sarica knew she could not be mistaken.
The woman in front of her could only be Justina Ruiz, whose disappearance almost seven years ago had many in the world accusing Giancarlo of murder.
Sarica managed to find a vacant seat three tables behind the other woman. Missing: Boston's Dancing Queen was the title of the documentary about the unsolved mystery of Justina's disappearance. While the sleeper hit had been smart enough not to make any direct accusations against Giancarlo, the leading questions it asked were enough to turn the public into a lynch mob.