Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
He glares at me. “Don’t be a child.”
I pick up the peppershaker and chuck it at his nose. He bats it aside with a grunt.
“Get out of my house then.”
“Would you just listen to me? We love you, Laura, even though right now you’d probably rather stab me in the throat than admit you feel the same way, and we want what’s best for you.”
“Funny how it’s always you that gets to decide what’s best, and my opinion doesn’t matter.”
He throws up his hands. “You’ve been a fucking recluse for like ten years. You still haven’t fully processed what happened to you in all this time. I’m afraid for you, okay?”
I pause, and there’s a little bell ringing in the back of my head, triggered by that phrase. I’m afraid for you. He’s totally sincere, and I believe him when he says this is all about keeping me safe, and in some ways I can even understand why he’s on Simon’s side instead of mine. From his perspective, his weirdo, traumatized little sister fell in with a dangerous thug that wants to destroy our family, and he’s probably pretty sure Marco’s going to hurt me.
“You’re wrong,” I say and struggle to keep my voice steady. I’m pissed at myself for letting my life get to this point where my own brothers think I’m too broken to function in the world, and I’m sad that they might even be right. Except about Marco. “He’s not using me. And I know, it seems weird, but he and I work together, okay?”
“Tell me how you know.”
“He’s had a dozen or more chances to do something bad, and he hasn’t.” Well, at least, not the sort of bad that I don’t enjoy. I keep that to myself though.
“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”
“I trust him. Doesn’t that matter? When was the last time I trusted someone?”
He looks away and I can tell Angelo’s struggling with this. He has to realize I have a good point. Even though I’m a reclusive weirdo, I’ve always had a good read on people, and I rarely warm up to them very quickly. Marco and Jackal are the exceptions.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head as he moves around the island and back toward my door. “I just can’t get past it. Simon’s right. You can’t see that guy, and if we have to keep you locked down until you get over him, then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Coward,” I say to his back. “You’re pathetic. Aren’t you the one that encouraged me to get back out into the world?”
His shoulders slump as he steps out onto my porch. “I know I have some responsibility here. But Marco’s a Santoro. I can’t get past it.”
“Try harder because he’s not going anywhere.”
Angelo walks away. I close the door behind him, vibrating with rage. That self-righteous prick. He walks in here and acts like he knows what’s best for me, like he’s on Simon’s side because this is what’s best for me, and meanwhile, he’s the one that wanted me to move out into the world. I do exactly that—I find someone that gets me and makes me happy—but it’s the wrong someone. So he shuts me down.
Fuck him. Fuck them. I’m not staying here, but I don’t know how to get out. Not yet, anyway.
I finish brewing my coffee. I’m too upset to call Marco back, although I send him a text letting him know what happened. He responds saying to call him when I’m ready to talk again.
I’m mostly finished with my mud water and still grumbling to myself when there’s another knock at my door. It has to be Angelo, back to grovel for forgiveness or maybe to get this piping hot water thrown in his fucking eyes. I smile to myself as I picture his skin bubbling up and red—
Except it’s Mom standing on my porch this time.
“Too many visitors,” I tell her, frowning deeply.
She blinks in surprise. “What’s that, hon?”
“Angelo was here already. What do you want?”
Mom flashes me that dazzling, disarming smile. The woman truly is gifted and charming. “I hear you have a problem, sweetie.”
I hesitate and narrow my eyes. “You heard correctly. My asshole brother is keeping me prisoner.”
“Your Don is doing what he thinks is best,” she corrects, but there’s something to her tone I can’t really place. “But I was wondering if you wanted some help with your problem.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You can get me out?”
“Well, no, I can’t do that. I mean, I probably could—but I won’t. You know how it is, sweetie. Don’s orders and all that.”
“Then you’re useless. Goodbye, Mother.” I move to close the door.
She holds up a hand. “But I have an idea that might help.”
I hesitate. Two visitors in one morning is two too many. But if she’s serious—