Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Most of the complications in my life can be handled one of two ways. Money, or a bullet. I’m known for being strategic and logical rather than emotional, so decisions have always come easily to me. When I encounter a situation that disrupts that balance, it makes me fucking itchy.
Right now, I don’t know what I need, except to get the fuck out of here. But before I can execute my plan to leave, the front door opens, and a warm, accented voice fills the silence.
“There you are. I was hoping you hadn’t left.”
I turn to see Jolie emerging from the shadows, her heels tapping out a soft staccato as she approaches.
She’s the daughter of Bastien Charbonneau, a major player in the Corsican syndicate.
My family has been in negotiations with his for some time, working on an alliance that would benefit us both. He wants access to a major Pacific port, and in exchange, he can offer us Customs influence in Marseille. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement that would expand both empires, with one caveat. The French are still rather fond of making alliances through marriage contracts.
Bastien has made it known that he believes his daughter would be the ideal match for me.
On the surface, she’s everything most men in my position could want in a bride. Beautiful, charming, and sophisticated, she would blend seamlessly into my life. Bastien insists she knows what this world entails, and she’s not naïve about how these contracts work. It would be a business arrangement without the complicated emotions most relationships involve.
Considering I have no aspirations of a love match, it would be an ideal fit for me. Jolie would kill two birds with one stone, and she’d never ask me for more than I’m willing to give.
I have no logical reason to reject the proposition, and in fact, it would uncomplicate my life. Because when I give my word, I don’t deviate.
The problem is that logic doesn’t seem to be factoring into this decision. Because when I try to imagine a life with her…I can’t.
“My father was hoping you’d have another drink with him,” she informs me with a hopeful smile.
A Mafia princess through and through, Jolie wants to please her father, who has undoubtedly been her sole source of approval for the majority of her life. I don’t doubt that if I were to walk back in there, he’d corner me with the intention of signing an agreement tonight.
It would solve a lot of our current problems with collapsing shipping routes and Customs scrutiny. More importantly, it would secure our future in the European market and prevent the Greeks from gaining leverage over us. With our volatile history, this alliance isn’t optional, and my family is relying on me to lock it down.
It shouldn’t even be a question, but instead of giving Jolie the answer she wants, I latch onto the distraction when the front door opens again.
As a familiar figure steps outside, my gaze drifts over her, observing the way the moonlight reflects off her dark hair, creating a soft halo around her.
It’s an ironic depiction, considering there wasn’t a red-blooded male in attendance tonight who didn’t eye-fuck her from across the room.
The doorman also takes the opportunity, letting his eyes roam over her curves before they pause to linger on the soft swells of her breasts.
Chantel St. James has an hourglass figure and striking features that captivate attention in any setting. Her eyes are a hypnotic shade of emerald green that make men abandon reason. They shift depending on her mood, reflecting light like sea glass or darkening at the edges like a turbulent ocean.
Framed by long, dramatic lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips, she’s used to people staring. Marco invites her to these parties among a select group of his colleagues and friends, showing her off like a trophy in his collection. He wants them to envy him, and that’s why men like the one ogling her now think they can get away with it.
The doorman bids her goodnight, his eyes carving over her ass as she steps forward, peering into the darkness as she checks her surroundings.
It’s a familiar ritual for her, something she does when she thinks nobody’s paying attention. I’ve often wondered what kind of monster she’s looking for around every corner, or why she feels the need to arm herself in subtle ways.
The hairpin that doubles as a stiletto, the beaded mala bracelet, a spiked ring. Those are just the ones I know of, but I suspect there are more within close proximity, either in her purse or on her body.
As if she can sense the most imminent threat in her vicinity, she turns her head, and her gaze collides with mine.
A beat passes as her eyes shift to Jolie, her brows pinching together slightly. Then, without a word, she straightens her spine and takes a few ginger steps forward, limping her way toward the front gate.