Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I don't blame her for that. How can I? Hope is a fragile thing. People say it doesn't die, but they're wrong. Stifled often enough, it starves. Her uncle has been starving her of hope for years.
No more.
I press my lips to hers, pouring my soul into her for her to keep safe. It belongs to her anyway. It has since the moment I set eyes on her. Perhaps for longer than that. There's a reason I never took anyone to my bed. There's a reason I never imagined a future with anyone until her. How could I when my soul was forged for her and her alone?
"Io e te per sempre, tesoro. I'll be back soon."
"You and me forever, Domani," she whispers back.
I give her the code and wait for her to shut the door between us before I slip out of the apartment.
Coda's sitting on my couch when I slip down the hall, my gun drawn. He doesn't pull his, but I know he hears me. He's got his dark head bent, his hands folded together in his lap.
"I told you not to come back home," he says, not even lifting his head.
"I know. Did Rafe send you, or did you come on your own?"
"Does it matter?"
I slide around the back of the couch so I can see him better, keeping my back to the wall. I know he's the only one here. I checked before I came in through the window. But I'm nothing if not careful. And when your back is up against the wall, you trust no one. Not even your closest, oldest friend.
"It matters," I say quietly.
"He didn't send me," he mutters, lifting his head to pin me with a dark glower. Fury sparks in his green eyes, more emotion than most get from him. Coda can be an ice-cold motherfucker when he needs to be. He doesn't let anyone close. He rarely speaks to anyone. The man is a goddamn wall no one can breach unless he decides to let them. But we've worked side by side for fifteen years. It took him five before he decided he liked me. "He ordered me to sit this one out, but it's fucking you, so I'm here anyway."
"To kill me?"
"Haven't decided yet. I guess that depends on you." He nods at the weapon in my hands. "You going to try to kill me?"
"You know I'm not. We're ride or die, motherfucker."
"Yeah, well, this might be the dying part, motherfucker." He blows out a sharp breath. "What the fuck are you thinking, man? This isn't you."
"This is me. You know it is."
Coda knows me better than anyone. He's stitched me up, held my flesh together, and plugged bullet holes with his fingers. He knows the shit I've done and the reasons I do it. He knows exactly who I am and why. He's here now because he knows me.
"He kept her locked in that house for damn near two years, listening to every vile thing he ever did. She hasn't known freedom since she was eleven years old. I couldn't leave her there," I tell him. "You wouldn't have left her there either."
"Irish business is Irish business, brother."
"No, fanculo quello," I growl. "This city belongs to Rafe. It belongs to the Italians. What happens in it is our business. It's always been our business. The only reason he's here now is because he's trying to take what doesn't belong to him. And the only reason Rafe is letting him is because he doesn't want to face another war. But wake the fuck up, Coda. Cillian's been preparing for war since he set foot in this city. That's the only reason he's here."
"They don't have the numbers to survive a war."
"Are you so sure about that?" I ask. "Because I'm not. Finley isn't. She's lived in that house, listening to him spew his bullshit day in and day out for nearly two years now. He's been growing his ranks and prepping for war since he arrived in Chicago. And we let it happen right under our goddamn noses because we're too busy with our own bullshit to pay attention."
Coda eyes me, uncertain for the first time since I stepped through the door. He isn't stupid or slow. He knows everything there is to know about the La Cosa Nostra. And I'm guessing he's picked up more than his fair share of knowledge about the Irish mob too. He knows if I'm telling him that war is coming, I'm not just making it up to save my own ass. He knows far too much to believe something that fucking ridiculous.
"Did Rafe have the sit-down Cillian wanted?"
"He agreed to it. Cillian didn't show."
"Why the fuck wouldn't he show?" I ask, my brows furrowing. "He demanded it."
"Don't know. Every conversation he's had, he's had outside. We haven't heard a word that he hasn't wanted us to hear. Mattia figures he suspects you planted devices somewhere in the house."