Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“I-I didn’t. Please. Please, you have to believe me.”
I spin the barrel. A little Russian roulette.
“Matteo—” Luka cuts in.
“Shut the fuck up!” I roar. “Now back to you, Princess. A bullet to your brain here, or do I drop you on your father’s step like the trash that you are?”
I spin the cylinder
Pressing the barrel to her skull.
“Anything to say, wife?”
“You have to believe me. We went out the front. They could have followed us . . .”
“If that was the case, they would have tried to kill me. But isn’t it convenient they only did it once you were safe?” I watch as the tears fall from her eyes. I feel nothing toward her. Only betrayal. “Nothing more to say? Very well.” She sobs uncomfortably. Her eye makeup is streaking down her face in dark rivulets.
The same kind of tears that in the past would hurt me to see, but the small part of me that was starting to feel has turned to stone.
The betrayal too much.
I pull the trigger.
33
Viviana
* * *
Time stands still as I hear the barrel spin, then the trigger is pulled.
Nothing.
Just a click.
I’m alive.
Even if only barely. My sobs come faster now. Tears streaming down my face.
What happens now? Will he pull the trigger again? Isn’t that the game?
My body trembles.
When he pulled the trigger, I was sure I would die. Instead, my body fell to the ground because my legs are no longer able to hold me up.
“Please—”
“Stop speaking,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He steps to the side, leaving me lying on the gravel.
“Get her in the car,” he orders his men.
“No. You have to believe me.”
He steps closer. The tip of his shiny black shoe is dangerously close to my face. “Do you have a death wish?” he spits out. Then he’s stepping back. I have never seen hate before like the way he hates me.
“Please,” I whisper through sobs, but it’s too late. He’s no longer looking at me. He’s stalking back to the house. Rough hands grab my arms, and before I can object, I’m being lifted.
Then the doors open, and I’m thrown into the back seat of the car. I move to get out, but I’m stopped.
“Be happy you’re not in the trunk. Actually, be happy you’re not dead.” I don’t speak, but I nod. I should be dead. By all intents and purposes, that’s what Matteo said he would do to me.
He thinks I’m a traitor. I’m not. We were foolish not to take precautions. It’s obvious they followed us.
“We should just kill her,” one of his men says to Roberto.
“Boss said to take her back.” Take her back? Back to where? It feels like a red-hot poker is being thrust into my chest where my heart should be. However, my heart was already broken before I heard I was being dropped off at my father’s. So instead, the stabbing sensation intensifies the closer we get.
The trip feels like it takes an eternity. With every turn, with every mile, I beg for them to listen to me. I cry for them to stop if they hear me, which I know they do, but they make no gestures to show me. Instead, the car eats up the distance the way a beast feasts off a decaying body.
When the car pulls to a stop in front of my father’s house, the door is thrown open, and I’m thrust out and onto the driveway.
I hit the ground with a thud. A lone tear drifts down my cheek, like the first raindrop to fall before an impending storm.
There is no question the sky will open. It’s just a matter of when.
I try to hold them back. With my head held high, I walk toward the house.
I would go anywhere else if I could, but this is the only place for me now. If I want to keep my loved ones safe, I have no other choice but to stay here and play by my father’s rules again. I will have to endure living here again.
That’s why Matteo picked this as my punishment.
Matteo knows this is the most painful place for me.
My own personal hell.
He wants me dead.
This is the equivalent.
My father won’t rest until I suffer for my insolence.
Well played, husband.
I rub the wet skin and will no more to fall. It’s bad enough I’m here. I won’t let these people see me fall.
Below my pants, I’m sure my legs are cut from falling to the ground.
With each step I take, my legs scream, but I plaster on a large, fake smile.
Do not show them pain.
My smile is sharp enough to cut glass.
The car skids off, kicking up gravel. The air thick with the smell of burning rubber.
I stand tall and proud. With my shoulders pulled back, I walk with purpose to the giant,