Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Dominick and I went to your place and told her she had to go, and I made sure she left with only her shit. Then, I had all the codes and locks changed.”
“Thanks,” he says with a defeated sigh.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, trying to lighten the blow, “she tried to argue that even though it started as a job, she genuinely cared about you. But she knew she had fucked up and there was no going back from that.”
“Fuck her,” he says, leaning back in his seat, trying not to look as heartbroken as I know he is. “Guess you were right. She was nothing more than a gold-digging bitch.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I check it to make sure Dani is okay.
Little Russo: Are you eating dinner at home tonight?
Me: No, I have plans. Order whatever you want.
“Everything okay?” Lorenzo asks.
“Yeah. Your sister was asking if I’d be home for dinner, but I have some shit I need to handle.”
Lies. All fucking lies. At the moment, everything is handled.
But going home means hanging out with Dani. And hanging out with her means being surrounded by her smiles and scent and laughter. And my restraint is only so fucking strong.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for her,” Lorenzo says, snapping me from my thoughts. “She’s the only damn family I have left, and I don’t know what I would’ve done had something happened to her. I owe you for taking care of her.”
And just like that, I’m reminded of why I need to stay away from Dani. Because even though we’re all adults, Lorenzo would kill me if he knew the thoughts I was having about his little sister.
After talking with Lorenzo until visitation is over and then stopping by the port to prolong the inevitable, I head home. Once again, it’s dark and quiet, and I find Dani sleeping in her bed with her tablet still lit up. I turn it off, but this time, I don’t kiss her head, not wanting to risk waking her up.
And then I set my alarm for four a.m. so I can go to the gym to train. With my fight coming up, I need to get serious, and since I can’t be home, the gym is the next best place.
“Wow, are you home before dark?” Dani asks without glancing back as I kick my shoes off, leaving them by the door.
It’s been two weeks since our celebration dinner, and I’ve made it a point to be gone more than I’m home. But for some reason, I couldn’t stay away any longer, so here I am, at home in the middle of the day, when I should be as far away from Dani as possible.
“Hey, Matteo,” she calls out. “Can you help me really quick?”
I step into the kitchen and find her up to her elbows—literally—in what looks like flour and some sort of dough. There’s baking shit all over the surfaces, and some flour has even gotten on her face and hair.
“Can you read what comes after two cups of flour?” She nods toward the baking book that’s open on the counter and covered in flour. “I don’t want to wipe it off and ruin the page.”
I swipe the flour off and then freeze in my spot. Because there are numbers and words all over the page, and unlike my phone, I can’t click play.
“Hurry, Matteo!” Dani laughs. “I need to add the next ingredient. Can you read what I need to add and how much, please?”
I stare at it for several seconds before I say, “No”—I swallow thickly—“I can’t read it.”
She glances at me and then laughs. “Really? You can’t read it?”
“No, I can’t fucking read it!” I bark, then stalk out of the kitchen because fuck her.
I’ve never admitted that to anyone out loud before, but I thought I could trust her.
I guess I was wrong.
Without bothering to change into my workout clothes, I head straight for the gym, throwing my shirt onto the floor, and take my anger out on the bag.
Flashbacks of my teachers telling my parents that I couldn’t read hit me hard.
My mom trying and failing to help me read.
Andrey trying to beat the stupid out of me.
Tears of frustration prick my eyes, but I don’t stop hitting the bag.
I can’t.
The only person I’ve ever told I can’t read—besides my brother—laughed at me.
She fucking laughed.
“Matteo—”
“Go away!”
“No. Stop.”
I’m so focused on the bag that I don’t see her slide in between me and the bag, and my fist comes too damn close to hitting her in the face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I bark, making her flinch. “I could’ve knocked you out.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But you were scaring me.”
She reaches out and grabs my hands, and it’s then I realize I didn’t wrap them, so they’re cut open and bloody.