Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
“I know you did.” As he says the words, his dark eyes heat and a cocky grin plays at his lips.
I can’t help my eyes widening and a smile slowly slipping across my lips. I wish I could hide it, but I can’t hide anything from him. Not anymore.
I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I know it’s wrong, but I had nothing before him. I’m drunk on his touch, his words. He’s everything I could possibly need. He’s shown me that.
I may be broken. But I’m his.
Chapter 1
Gio
One month before
* * *
The bright red rubber ball squeaks as I release it, watching it sail far across my yard. Duke, my loyal black lab, turns and chases the ball as fast as he can, tearing up the grass in pursuit.
I smile to myself, looking out across the property. I like the seclusion and privacy of living outside of the city, and I was able to construct a home with everything I could need. I bought the place more for the land than for anything else. I’d be happy living in a fucking trailer if it meant I could do whatever I damn well please, but fortunately I get paid a lot of money to do what I do.
“You know we can’t turn this down.”
I glance at my father at the sound of his voice. He stands impatiently against a nearby tree, puffing one of the short, dark cigars he prefers. His receding white hair makes him look ten years older than he is. He's wearing his usual outfit, a blue dress shirt tucked into jeans with a brown work jacket over top and oversized brown boots that are nearly falling apart. He looks like a construction worker, or something blue collar like that.
He sure as hell works with his hands, but he’s no fucking construction worker.
“You know that if we do it, the consequences could be extensive,” I answer, feeling a chill run down my shoulders.
Duke grabs the ball and heads back, his tail held high in the air. My father huffs, shaking his head and then inhales deeply, looking past me.
His voice is low as he responds, “I understand your concerns, but this is beyond us.”
“Exactly. It’s too big to control,” I answer, not bothering to look at him.
“Control?” He laughs. “There’s no control in our line of work.”
“Maybe the way you operate. But that’s not how I do things.”
He pushes off the tree and walks toward me just as Duke drops the ball at my feet. I pick it up and launch it again, sending the dog running. The smell of the cigar gets stronger as he walks closer.
“Listen, son. You know how much this means to me.”
Guilt threatens to take over. The only man I owe shit to is my father. But he’s falling for a trap. They’ll never give him what he wants. “I know what it could mean, at least.”
“We’ve been outsiders our whole fucking lives.” His voice rises, letting his emotions come through.
“I know,” I say, jaw tense.
“They think we’re garbage and trash,” he says, nearly spitting the words. “But this is our chance to show them that we’re dependable. That we belong.”
I grunt and watch the dog sprint off in the distance. My father’s right, even though his motives are pretty fucking skewed. He’s lived his entire life on the outskirts of the Romano familia, wishing he could be a part of them, but unable to join. He’s only half Italian; his disgraced father ran off and fucked some Irish girl years and years ago. It doesn’t matter to me, but my father never got over the fact that his full Italian Romano cousins were allowed into the familia, while he was kept at a distance.
That’s probably why my father entered into this profession and trained me to work alongside him. Being hitmen means we’re allowed to exist on the fringe of the familia. We've even earned some respect, though fear may be the better word for it. Over the years my father gathered a particular set of skills and passed them down to me, continuing the family tradition.
I don’t give a shit about my inbred, shitheel cousins. I could kill them one by one if I wanted and never lose a wink of sleep. Blood means nothing to me.
I don’t give a fuck about the familia like my father does. He has this chip on his shoulder and acts like all of our problems are due to the familia rejecting him. He can’t see past his own petty need to be accepted by them.
Being an outsider suits me. I like my life outside of the city, and outside of the familia. I take their money and do their jobs because that’s the life I know, but I don’t want to be a part of their politics and their bullshit.