Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Don’t,” I command.
“I have to,” she whispers. “I can’t stay here.”
I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m afraid if I lay down the law, I’ll shout. I don’t want to scare her, which is a new sensation for me. I’m used to scaring everyone. In fact, it’s one of the primary ways I motivate my business associates.
But Marlena has me by the heartstrings, and I would do anything to avoid seeing her cry. Anything except making it easy for her to leave me.
“What if I offered you more money?” I suggest.
She shakes her head defiantly, her beautiful lips pressed shut. I can see by the downward turn of her eyes and the stress lines on her forehead that she’s close to tears. I fight the urge to force her into a chair and keep her there against her will.
She turns and runs, her face buried in delicate hands. I watch her go, powerless to stop her. Her silky brown hair tossing around her shoulders is the last thing I see as she slips out the door. And I’m left stunned, impotent, and seething.
My first instinct is anger. I am the leader of the Corello family. No one treats me this way! There are thousands of women in the city who would give their right eye to be where Marlena is. She’s a fool for leaving, and I should be happy to be rid of her.
But then guilt follows close behind, settling on my heart like a lead weight. I’m the one who forced her to take such drastic action. She needs the money from tutoring Frankie to pay her rent. I know all about her financial situation and how grim it is.
If it wasn’t for my mafia connections, she would be happy to stay right where she is. I’m no fool. I can see that she’s attracted to me. It might not be the smartest thing in the world to allow ourselves to get close, but stranger things have happened. We wouldn’t be the first May-December relationship ever embarked upon. We could make it work. We could be happy together.
Finally, depression makes itself known, dragging me down to the depths of despair. Alessia’s death comes back to me in all its horrific glory. I relive the final moments at her bedside, knowing that she was beyond comfort, and unable to grapple with my own demons.
With that thought, anger returns. There is no way I’m letting Marlena walk out of my life. I’ll do whatever I have to do to change her mind, but I’m drawing a line in the sand. She belongs to me, and it’s about time I made her aware of that fact.
CHAPTER 15
MARLENA
I’m shaking as I run away. The hallway seems like it goes on forever, and I’m terrified that the front door will be locked when I reach it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of Francisco’s goons in the kitchen. He watches me go and pulls out his phone. I’m sure he’s asking the boss whether I have permission to leave the house.
That means I have mere seconds to escape before I’m dragged back to face the king. I burst through the massive doors and scramble down the porch steps. My car is there, waiting to take me away to freedom. But still, I have to get past the gates.
The guard at the bottom of the hill gives me a wave. I wipe tears from my eyes and pretend everything is normal. I give him a wave and wait patiently for the gates to open, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
My heart stops when the seconds drag on, but finally the heavy iron bars swing open. I step on the gas, not caring who hears me peel out into oncoming traffic. I have to get out of here. I floor it all the way home, ditch the car in the parking lot and race up to my apartment.
Why didn’t I pack already? I stress. I knew what I was going over there to do, and I had a pretty good idea how Francisco would react. But seeing him in that moment, that dangerous spark in his eyes when I told him I didn’t want to be in his debt, makes it so much more real. Somehow I know now that, although I’ve cut ties with him, Francisco won’t let me go, and I don’t have much time.
I grab a suitcase from the bottom of my closet and throw my essentials in. It’s the same suitcase I brought with me after my father died, the same one that’s been with me for most of my life. There are no distinguishing marks on it, nothing to say that it’s mine. It’s just a nondescript gray bag on wheels. It would be at home in any airport or bus terminal in any state in the country. But for me, it holds great significance. It means I’m on the run again.