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)
I walk to the door, feeling like I’m splintered wood. I leave chips of myself on the floor as I grab the handle and step forward into the hall. My father demands that I come back, but I can’t even look at him right now as the full horror of what he’s saying descends on me like an anvil from the sky.
I’m crushed. I’m beyond broken. I’m gutted and horrified.
My father wants me to marry the daughter of our enemy.
The daughter of the man who kidnapped my brother and kept him in the cage. The daughter of the man who betrayed our Famiglia in such a vicious way.
Santoro nearly killed my father. He caused the death of Rachel, and his scammers might’ve ruined Emily’s life.
And I’m supposed to marry into that family.
Chapter 28
Simon
I feel sick on the walk home from my father’s house. Davide’s waiting for me outside, but I can’t talk to him. When he pushes for details about what happened, I tell him to talk to Dad if he wants to know and try to ignore the hurt in his expression.
It’s not my brother’s fault. If things were up to him, I know he’d never make a deal with Santoro like this, not even with a gun to his head. I don’t know what my dad’s thinking, trying to make peace with the man who has consistently tried to tear our family to pieces, but it makes absolutely no sense.
There are a lot of unknowns in the Santoro situation. Nobody knows exactly why Luciano Santoro decided to betray my father after acting as his underboss and top lieutenant for years. There are rumors about power and money, but nothing’s certain. They were best friends, and we all grew up thinking of Santoro as an uncle. But then he turned his back on our father, kidnapped Davide, and blew the entire city to pieces. Things have been so damn bizarre since then, and I’ve always wondered what Santoro has on my father to keep them from ending things the way they should’ve a long time ago, with guns and blood.
It’s like Dad wants to be punished by Santoro. But whatever sin Dad might’ve committed, none of that should be more important than his own damn family, and at this point it’s clear that Luciano Santoro is the most dangerous person in the city.
And yet he wants me to marry that sick bastard’s daughter.
I shove my way back into my house and lean against the banister of the stairway, feeling lightheaded.
I’m so close. I could reach out and become Don. All I have to do is leave Emily and marry some strange girl, the daughter of my enemy. I should want to do this—I should be willing to sacrifice anything for my Famiglia—but the prospect makes me feel sick.
The smell of cooking wafts in from the kitchen and I hear Emily humming to herself. There’s frying bacon, coffee, and something else in the air, as I drift over to it, my legs moving automatically. I keep seeing my father sitting behind his desk commanding me to leave my wife so I can marry into a family I despise more than anything in the world, and it breaks my fucking heart.
I see her standing at the stove. She’s got a spatula in one hand, the other gripping the handle on the pan, and she’s flipping something. I smell egg and cinnamon. There’s sliced bread on the counter. Emily’s wearing a pair of black silky shorts and a cut-off gray shirt, her hair down around her shoulders, the sunlight from the back windows slanting in across her tan skin.
She looks incredible. So fucking delicate and beautiful. Her entire attention is on whatever she’s cooking, and her tongue’s pressed between her lips as she concentrates on flipping what I realize is French toast. When it lands perfectly, she gives a delightful little laugh and shakes her butt, and I’m so fucking smitten it’s like a part of me dies right there on the kitchen floor.
I can’t leave this girl. There’s no fucking way I can do it. I never really considered it, but seeing her here in my house, looking like that, the thought of giving her up is an agony. That’s a hell I won’t ever choose for myself, not for anything.
I need her hands on my chest. I need her lips at my neck. I love her long legs, the way she laughs when I bury my face in her hair, her moans as I slide my fingers deep inside her, the sweat on her skin as I fuck her deep and rough and make her come again and again. I want her company in the shower, her voice on the back porch. I need her in my life, and I won’t let her go.