Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I step toward her. Gingerly, I brush my thumb across her bruised cheek. I once knocked a man’s teeth down his throat because he called my sister a whore. Literally, he choked on his teeth. But this…
“He’s already dead, Rome,” she says with a small smile. In her eyes is a world of hurt that didn’t start with her husband. “Papa saw to that.”
I want to hit my father for not leaving the motherfucker for me.
My father lights another cigar.
I sit on a stuffed leather chair in the corner of the room and lean back.
“Does Mama know you’re home yet, Rosa?”
She shakes her head. “No. I want you to tell her, brother, will you?” Rosa smiles sadly. “Papa and I had business to discuss first.”
I look sharply at him, and for the first time question whether he was the one who gave her the bruises. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“I see.”
The burnt end of the cigar lights the darkened room, stark red like a devil’s pitchfork.
“What business did you have to discuss, then?” As Underboss, there are no questions I’m not allowed to ask.
She looks me in the eye, and I see a deep well of pain there she can’t hide. She loved the man. He cheated on her. And now, he’s dead. Natalia, her daughter, is a vivacious little five-year-old we chat with regularly.
“You’ll recall I was allowed to marry under the condition our family benefit from our alliance.”
I nod.
“Papa wanted to ensure his family paid in full.”
I look to Papa. “And did they?”
He blows out another ring of smoke. “In full.”
I nod. It’s only customary for them to pay—in whatever currency necessary—what they promised. I’ll follow through on this as well after tomorrow.
I turn to Rosa. “And Natalia?”
“Asleep.”
“Soon, son, we’ll discuss the next order of business,” Papa says. “Tonight, you feast, then we go to bed early. Tomorrow’s a big day.” My father scowls.
Tomorrow, we have the reading of the will for my mother’s father. I missed the wake and funeral but they were able to delay the reading of the will until tomorrow. We aren’t concerned much about it. The Rossi family owns ten restaurants in the North End, and those are only the legal ways we earn money. We have no need for an inheritance, if he even left us anything. My mother, on the other hand, may have more of a vested interest.
I rise, suddenly weary. The days in prison passed like sludge, painfully slow. I was released twelve hours ago, and it already feels as if it’s been a full week.
I push myself to my feet and nod my goodnight, but before I leave, I reach for my sister. I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her. She may be older, but I’ve been bigger than her for years now. The woman’s made of steel and gravel, so it’s almost surprising how small and vulnerable she feels in my arms.
“Good to have you home, Rosa,” I tell her before I leave.
“Same to you, Romeo.” She sighs. “Same to you.”
I nod to my bodyguard, who’s kept quiet watch by the door since my arrival. Would’ve paid half my fucking inheritance to have him by my side in the big house.
He follows behind me. “Text Mario.” It’s time I found out who the woman was, the girl who saw me kill tonight. The woman who could get me put away for life if she wanted. “We have some research to do.”
Chapter Three
“Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.” Romeo and Juliet
Vittoria
“Your name means victory,” I whisper to myself as I stare into the rearview mirror. “Victory.” My mother hated my name. My grandfather was the one who named me, and for some reason my mother went along with it. Likely didn’t want to rock the boat. But even though she allowed me to be named Vittoria, she said my name like it was a dirty word.
Vittoria, stated as if it were distasteful.
When I was a teen, they called me Torri, but I didn’t like the nickname. I allowed my ex to call me that, against my better judgment, but once I was rid of him, I decided that was it.
I was christened Vittoria DiSanto, and that’s exactly how I’ll die.
I look at myself in the rest stop bathroom mirror and pick an imaginary piece of lint off my fitted white top. This is an occasion I need to dress for. I blink, and the memory of the night before surfaces. When I woke, I almost convince myself it was all a dream, but I know better.
A pool of blood. The threat of rape. One set of vacant eyes, and the ruthless, blue-gray eyes of the man who saved me before he bullied me into fleeing.
Who was he? How did he get rid of the body?