Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I couldn’t chase away the hazy memories of the night I was attacked. No matter how hard I tried to outrun them, they always caught up.
The pain. The humiliation. The faceless man grunting, leering, taking.
And it wasn’t just that. The time was approaching when my pregnancy would be announced. Doctor appointments would be booked. It would become real, and I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I wasn’t even ready to be a wife.
Not that my husband was interested in one.
Then there was my sleep deprivation. I was exhausted and agitated, prone to making mistakes. I should’ve never smiled at Tiernan spitefully. That opened a Pandora’s box. Now he suspected I was spying for my family. And he told me exactly what punishment I’d receive if he deemed his suspicion to be true.
Mama was in Chicago. There had been some issues with Luca and his wife. Sofia left the house, and Papa sent Mama to Sofia’s parents to try to calm her down. Mama wanted to bring me along, but apparently my stronzo of a husband denied the request.
Now I was stuck in the Gothic cathedral-turned-tavern, all alone and with nothing to do.
I didn’t have my Kindle nor any physical books. Mama said it was too much of a risk, in case Tiernan found them. I was running out of pages in my sketchpad.
I had a little money. Cash. But I couldn’t leave the apartment. Guards were swarming all over the place. A part of me wanted to knock on the door opposite ours. But ultimately, I was too scared to find out who awaited behind it.
What if it was Becky? Or another mistress?
In lieu of entertainment, I started toying with my phone. I familiarized myself with the settings. With the different icons that seemed to yield to my command each time I touched them. There were a lot of options to choose from. Books to read, games to play, articles to explore. It appeared that the entire, whole wide world was sitting in my palm, just waiting for me to discover it. The same message kept popping up, though, infuriating me to no end.
No internet connection.
No internet connection.
No internet connection.
A frustrated growl tore out of my mouth. I shook my head, tossing the phone onto my bed beside me. A tremor shot up my spine. A sign of the entrance door slamming shut. I froze.
It was only four in the afternoon. Tiernan should be at work, probably checking on his gambling joints and whorehouses.
Who the hell just walked in?
Maybe one of his guards decided to take a spin on the helpless girl.
I jerked open my nightstand drawer and pulled out a butcher knife. Tiernan had forgotten to hide it when I first moved in. Rookie mistake. He had cleared out the apartment of everything else lethal. I tucked the phone into the waistband of my sweatpants and advanced toward the hallway.
My heart dropped at the silhouette of a long-legged woman in knee-high Louboutin boots and a black faux fur coat. Huge Miu Miu sunglasses covered her face.
Lovely. Another one of my husband’s sex workers, I thought before she spun toward me, her marvelous bloodred hair flinging in slow motion across her shoulders.
Tierney.
“Oh, good. You’re still alive.” She tore the sunglasses from her face, tossing them onto the kitchen island along with her Chanel bag. She strutted to the fridge. “Tiernan asked me to check on you.”
He did? Why? He was perfectly happy to let me rot here alone for two weeks.
“Is that a butcher knife in your hand?” Her face popped from the fridge, which she closed with a kick of her stiletto, hugging fresh eggs and a jar of olives to her chest. “Can’t blame you, girl. I want to kill my brother at least five times a day.” She rolled her sparkling emerald eyes. “The only thing stopping me at this point is selfishness. What if I ever need a kidney donor, you know?”
I placed the knife on the counter, watching her in fascination. I’d never met a woman who was so unapologetically herself. Every Camorra woman I knew tried to fit into the mold the men in her life created for her.
“Jaysus, it’s boiling in here. He lets you put the thermostat on seventy-six?” She peeled off her coat, revealing a burgundy evening dress, almost the color of her hair. “He has it bad for you, girl. In the twenty-eight years we’ve spent together, he hasn’t once let me close a window to fight the chill.”
I did change the thermostat on my third day here. It was originally set to forty-two. Even two pairs of socks and a puffy sweater couldn’t ward off the cold. My guess was he hadn’t noticed. He was barely home, anyway.
Also…twenty-eight? That was his age? I was only eighteen. He already had an unfair advantage over me without adding life experience into the mix.