Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
An internal fit of jealousy consumed me. What a fantastic way to trap a woman. Although by the shit-eating grin on Francesca’s face, I suspected she’d be with him even if she wasn’t knocked up.
Across the room stood Luca and a girl in her late teens. His expression suggested he was attending his own funeral. She held the grave expression of the coroner. Fuck, and I thought Gia and I had it rough.
Woodenly, the girl extended her slim wrist to well-wishers who wanted to see her ring. Showing the anello di fidanzamento was big at Italian engagement parties. They didn’t exchange a word. I gave this thing between them one tax season. Tops.
“Wow,” my wife breathed out, “Francesca Keaton is stunning up close.”
Maybe she was. Sometime in the last few years, I had stopped paying attention to what women looked like. I just fucked the ones others deemed attractive while pining for my PA.
Gia and I grabbed our seating cards and approached our table. “Stay by my side, and don’t go anywhere without me.” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Callaghan won’t touch a hair on your head in this ballroom. Anywhere outside it is fair game, though.”
Her spine stiffened. My wife didn’t like to be told what to do. Especially when she had to live like a caged songbird because of my fuckups.
“Is he here?” she asked.
“No.”
My presence here was contingent on Callaghan being disinvited. Somehow the idea of sharing hors d’oeuvres with the asshole who wanted to kill me didn’t appeal to me.
We ended up sharing a table with hedge fund moguls and a congressman I’d seen frequenting the Forbidden Fruit Club. The club was owned by the Ferrantes and served as a high-end brothel during the daytime. My wife seemed determined not to speak to me more than absolutely necessary after I fucked her in front of our friends, and she instantly struck up a conversation with an elderly real estate developer.
Enzo slipped into the seat next to mine and started yapping happily. I tuned him out and found myself scanning the room again, looking for signs of Callaghan soldiers. I couldn’t find any, but I found Vello and his extended family, sitting at a never-ending table.
I spotted Lila too. The mysterious baby sister of the Ferrante clan. Only seventeen.
She was delicate in her beauty. Ethereal and otherworldly. Like a Claudine painting by Marcel Dyf. Intellectually challenged, if rumors were to be believed.
She sat alone at a separate small table fitted for children, garbed in a glittery gold gown the same shade as her hair, her spine ramrod straight.
She appeared to be hosting a tea party with porcelain dolls. Sprawled on the table was a British tea set, floral and vintage with carved handles. She poured air into mugs and laughed haughtily at something a porcelain doll said. How this pale-haired elfin shared full DNA with her strong-featured, ginormous brothers was a case for the FBI. She looked nothing like them. Not in height, not in build, not in color, and not in features.
Her graceful pout and childlike innocence did nothing to yours truly, but I could see men clamoring for the chance to marry her. Knowing the Camorra and Vello Ferrante specifically, there was a good chance he’d marry her off despite her intellectual challenges.
He was the biggest prick I’d ever met. And I actually worked closely with Baron “Vicious” Spencer.
“Remove your eyes before I scoop them out, Blackthorn. Lila’s off the table.” Enzo tapped my shoulder, reminding me of his unfortunate existence.
I shot him a cool glare. “I’m a married man.”
“Start acting like it, bro.”
If that little shit bro-ed me one more time…
“Well, this one in front of you isn’t attracted to children.”
Even if she wasn’t so young, I found her to be nothing extraordinary. She didn’t have Gia’s courage, fire, and wit. My wife’s intelligence, firm values, and soft heart set me ablaze. Her beauty—while exquisite—was just a small fraction of her appeal to me.
“FYI, the exterior of the hotel is swarming with Callaghan’s men.” Enzo swirled his drink, giving it a sniff. “Since I’m off duty, I suggest you keep an eye on your wife.”
“You think Callaghan is brazen enough to attack her during Luca’s party?” I asked.
“I think he’s brazen enough to set the sitting president on fire in front of the entire Congress,” Enzo answered, unblinking. “Just because he’s not here today doesn’t mean he’s not going to try to pull some bad shit. He’s got a hard-on for your neck, and since you killed his proxies, he’ll likely target yours.”
The next hour included an endless amount of Italian food, badly crafted conversation paired with lovely crafted wine. A hedge fund dude bro, who was clearly a legacy hire, droned on about crypto to me while I pretended my full attention wasn’t on Gia. I didn’t let her out of my sight. Not a difficult task, considering watching her was hardly a punishment. She avoided my eyes, which got on my nerves.