Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
The soles of my boots slid on the weather-beaten surface of the last plank. My arms windmilled in a futile attempt to regain my balance and not fall into the dark, foreboding waters.
In that fraction of a second, I could practically feel it…
The bitter cold water enfolding me. The shock of it stealing my breath as I struggled to the surface. My skirt wrapped around my legs, tangling in the heels of my boots. My arms flailing in a fight to keep my head above water. Not having enough air to even scream for help. The frigid water stiffening my muscles, slowing every movement into a sluggish and strained effort. Catching only a glimpse of the lights of Palermo in the distance as I sank deeper and deeper toward death.
Suddenly, a powerful arm grabbed me and yanked me away from the edge.
His black leather mask was all that much more sinister in the darkness. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have drowned,” he raged.
I was thinking that you were going to kill me.
I was thinking I needed to get the hell away from you.
I was thinking how badly I wished I could just scream out my real name so you would leave me alone.
I was thinking if you found out I was Antonella and not Antonia, it could get my ungrateful sister into even more trouble or worse …
I was thinking about the sheer insanity of my standing in the middle of the public piazza and allowing you to intimately finger me.
I was thinking about the most intense orgasm of my life from only your finger.
I was thinking if anyone found out what we’d done, my father would make me marry you instead of her.
I was thinking that you still thought I was my sister—and your intended bride.
Placing my hands over my flushed cheeks, I breathed heavily. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’re damn right you weren’t.”
Before I could evade him, he reached down, scooped me into his arms, and headed back up the dock toward the anchored boats.
The feeling of being a trapped mermaid at the mercy of a ruthless demon sea captain came over me. “I can walk.”
No response.
“Did you hear me? I said I could walk.”
“I heard you. I just wasn’t listening.”
Stepping down a small side dock, he stopped along a massive twenty-five-meter Pershing 82 yacht.
A man in uniform with a gun strapped to his belt approached the railing. “Is that you, sir?”
“It is, Aldo. Push out the gangplank.”
I couldn’t let him carry me onto that boat. “Help! I’m being kidnapped! Call the police!”
The security guard chuckled as he released the latch on the entry gate and drew a lever. “I see you caught a live one, boss.”
After a loud clang, a motorized metal gangplank slowly extended from the boat to the dock.
I squirmed in Matteo’s arms.
As much as the words burned like acid in the back of my throat to even say the man’s name, let alone use it as leverage, I cried out, “My father is Antonius Fichera! He will see you killed for this!”
Matteo glowered down at me. “I’m well aware of who your father is.”
With his power, money, and mafia ties, even the mere mention of my father’s name struck fear into the heart of any Sicilian.
I should have known an arrogant Cavalieri wouldn’t give a damn. Their money and influence far eclipsed even my father’s extensive reach.
The sea churned and broke against the dock pilings below the plank he carried me along. Aware that it was my only alternative for escape, I shivered at the prospect of entering the icy water. It would mean certain death.
Once we were on the boat, Matteo casually tossed out, “Tell the rest of the crew we are not to be disturbed—no matter what they hear.”
My mouth dropped open as I looked over Matteo’s shoulder to see his guard’s reaction to such a strange request. Aldo saluted and said, “Of course, sir.”
The remote din of the Carnevale music and the clang and metallic hum of the gangplank being pulled back from over the water and into the boat accompanied us as we crossed the deck.
My only escape route was now gone.
The breach between the boat and the dock was far too wide to even contemplate jumping.
Matteo carried me through a spacious lounge filled with low sofas and ottomans, all in varying shades of gray with smooth, gray wood accents. Without saying a word, we descended deeper into the boat and along a narrow corridor.
I thought about crying out, but knew it was futile. If the security guard with the gun didn’t want to challenge Matteo’s authority, it was doubtful a steward or porter would. Not to save an unknown, drowned-rat female, at least.
After kicking open a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway, we entered a massive stateroom. My head swiveled from left to right, instinctively searching for a way out. Again, the room was decorated in the same soft shades of gray.