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)
“You realize I’ve been seeing a member of the Santoro mafia, right?”
She looks at her nails. “Love is love.” Then she looks at me, grinning. “And hey, your father was in love with a Santoro too.”
I groan and look at the ceiling. She’s not kidding—Dad’s affair with Luciano Santoro is what started the war, and what inevitably ended it.
I’m tempted to tell her off, but I don’t have any idea how I’m getting out of this situation, and my mother knows this Famiglia better than anyone else, aside from Simon. If there’s a way, she can figure it out.
“Ten minutes,” I say, stepping aside. “Then I want to get back to work.”
“We won’t need that long, sweetie. Gosh, I’m so happy you’re finally coming out of your isolation, you know that? I’m really, really proud of you.”
“Please don’t talk like that anymore, or I will throw you out.”
She laughs and saunters into the kitchen, and I wonder if this was a big mistake.
Chapter 34
Marco
Ilose myself in the computer. It’s a pale, pathetic imitation of the real thing. Laura on the screen is beautiful, she’s incredible, her voice sends shivers down my spine, and I could watch her work for hours.
But it’s not a substitution for actually touching her.
Another couple days pass. If the world outside ceased to exist, I could be happy. All I’d need is Laura, plus the possibility of seeing her again, and that’d be enough to subsist on. It’s not a great existence, but it’s good enough.
I’m smitten. I’m stupid in love. It’s pathetic, and Valentina would despise me if she really understood how far gone I am, but I can’t change how I feel.
Except one thing bothers me. It nags at the back of my mind like a mosquito nibbling at my blood. It’s not until I look at the clock on the morning of the sixth day that I realize what’s happening, and there’s only one person in the whole world that might be able to make sense of it.
Ronan spends most of his time at a pizza place. Which is funny, because he’s Irish and not Italian, but everyone in the back of the house is either in his organization or trying to be a part of it. Once, a while back, I asked him why he doesn’t open a pub like all the other Irish do, and he just laughed at me. “Fucking pub? A fucking pub? When I have the most talented pizza chefs in the entire city? You’re insane.”
Now I find him at a table in the back corner. His Hispanic staff jokes in Spanish, and I know he’s half following along as he smiles to himself and taps at his phone screen. He doesn’t notice my approach until I’m sitting down in the chair opposite. “You have shitty security.”
He looks up, eyebrows raised. “Marco Vitale, in the flesh. You do realize my guys know who you are?”
“They still should stop me.”
“We’re not all paranoid fucks like you.” He puts his phone down and stretches out. “Want something to eat?”
“Nah, I’m good. I just want to talk.”
“Sure, let’s talk.” He barks something in Spanish and one of the guys behind the glass says something about getting right on it back. But my Spanish sucks. “I’m guessing Valentina told you.”
I stare at him. I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. “You got anything to say?” I ask, bluffing.
“It’s nothing personal. You know we’re friends and I’m on your side, but it’s just how things are moving, right? Adam’s got the plan, and you—” He waves in the air and spreads his fingers, miming a puff of smoke.
I take a deep breath and blow it out. “I’m getting iced out.” That’s what I felt. I knew it, deep in my bones. The winds shifted, the politics changed, and I’m no longer leading the group.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. More like you were replaced. Again, nothing personal.” Ronan has the good sense to look genuinely chagrined at least. “I’d rather have you in charge than that big fucking Polish prick, but he’s the man with the action plan at the moment.”
One of the workers comes over and drops two slices on the table. They’re both plain, and Ronan pushes one to me. I stare at it, head working, not really seeing the food. He picks up his slice and takes a bite, chews, watches me.
I’m being replaced. I shouldn’t be surprised. It shouldn’t bother me. This is probably good for everyone involved—I don’t have the best interests of the group at heart anymore. I’m fucking compromised.
It still pisses me off.
“This alliance only exists because I made it happen,” I say quietly, ignoring my pizza.
“And we’re all so very grateful.” Ronan’s smirk pisses me off. He doesn’t take anything seriously. “Come on, eat. Don’t insult me.”