Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Dad stares in surprise. I look back, heart racing, not sure where the hell that came from and already regretting it. The implication is clear: he’s not strong enough. And while I believe that, and I know many other people in the Famiglia agree, it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
Guilt hammers into my guts. I don’t want to do this to my father. The Dad I grew up with was kind, loving, firm when he had to be, but always there for us. This man isn’t him—it’s like that bullet changed my father, made him bitter and reactive, and I’d give anything to have the old version of him back.
That won’t happen.
Laura speaks up into the awkward silence.
“I think you two should duel,” she says. And I genuinely don’t know if she’s kidding. “Pistols. Ten paces. Turn and shoot. Bang, bang.” She shows teeth in what’s nearly a smile.
The back door slides open. “Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom says in a sing-song voice. Her big smile falters when she spots me. “Oh, no, you two aren’t starting this already, are you?”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Dad says, pushing back from the table. He jabs his cigar out and leaves the husk behind.
Mom gives me a long stare and shakes her head as Dad limps inside. She takes his arm and leads him away.
I lean back and close my eyes, pissed at myself for losing control.
“Seriously,” Laura says, puffing on her cigar. “Duels are severely underrated. You could do swords. Fight to first blood.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I say and head inside to find my wife.
Dinner is strained. Dad ignores me and is in a bad mood. Emily picks up on the discomfort and asks me what’s going on, but I’m not ready to talk about it. At least she’s fitting in with Stefania, Elena, and my mother really well—the three of them basically carry the entire conversation, since it’s not like Davide or Laura are going to pick up the slack.
We leave around ten that night. Everyone disperses to their own homes. Emily hangs on my arm, smiling into the comfortable evening, and we ignore all the armed men hanging around in the shadows and on the nearby roofs.
“You and your father looked like you wanted to kill each other,” she says as we walk up our front porch and pause in the darkness before the front door. It smells like pollen and old wood, and she clings against me, slightly unsteady, and practically glowing in that damn dress.
“We had a disagreement before dinner. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
“I guess our marriage didn’t fix anything.” She leans into me and looks up at me through her lashes. “You’re not going to divorce me, are you? Just because getting hitched to me isn’t having the effect you wanted?”
I run a hand across her cheek and end with my fingers in her hair. She lets out a sharp breath as I pull it gently, tugging her chin back and turning to face her, pressing our bodies together. She’s not drunk, but she’s definitely buzzed, and I’m wondering how much of this is the alcohol.
“No, baby, I think I’m going to keep you around for a while.”
She licks her lips. “Five years. No more. Remember?”
“I remember.” I lean down and hesitate, thinking I’m going to kiss her on the cheek, but she doesn’t pull away and her mouth parts slightly, showing teeth and the hint of a small, pink tongue.
I can’t help myself. I crush my lips to hers, kissing her slow, and she stiffens in surprise for a beat before my tongue invades her, lapping her up, tasting her and drinking her in, my hand in her hair tightening further as I pull her harder into me.
She releases a whimper from deep in her chest and I’m dizzy with how badly I want her right now. All my pent-up anger, my frustration, it pales compared to the desire coursing down my spine. My cock’s hard and my head’s dizzy, and I don’t know how I can stand this, living in my house with her for three months and three weeks, and not able to fuck her into submission.
I hold that kiss until her fingers dig into my chest, then reluctantly break it off.
She’s breathing hard. Her lips are swollen and her cheeks are red. She looks like sex and sin, like heaven and hell, like all the mistakes I want to make wrapped up in a pretty black dress, with a cross nestled between her tits.
“Sleep in bed with me tonight,” I whisper and regret it immediately. I shouldn’t have pushed, and now she’s pulling back slightly.
“Simon—” she starts, but I press my thumb against her mouth.
“I don’t mean sex. I’d fuck you if you wanted me to, but that’s not what I mean. I just want you in my bed tonight. I want you next to me. That’s all.”