Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“You mean you don’t love me?” Her voice was light. Too light. “The absolute devastation.”
I grinned. “I’m just a regular breaker of hearts and arms.” I imagined loving Tempest would be akin to loving a cactus.
"That’s rude.”
"Oh, shit! Did I say that out loud?”
“Asshole.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” She hesitated. “But really, you don’t feel sick or anything?”
I frowned. “No, I really don’t.”
“Good.” She clutched her black designer purse between her fingers until they turned white. “That’s really good.”
I stared at her hands then back up at her. “Yes, that’s what I’m feeling all over, my body good while you sit there and twitch with your purse like you’re thanking the universe I said I was fine.”
“I don’t like deaths hanging over my head.”
“Same?” I frowned. “Sometimes? Whatever, let’s get in there. I’ll remember not to make direct eye contact lest he set my ass on fire.”
She rolled her eyes. "Be polite or I'll tell him you blindfolded me and tied me up before taking my virginity.”
I burst out laughing. Wow. “Can’t steal something you threw at your freshman boyfriend after Homecoming, Tempest.”
She froze, her hand on the door. “Who told you—”
She sighed, and I was once again reminded of the person I used to be with—used to kiss—used to love—used to think I was going to end up with.
Her twin.
“Right.” She found her voice. “Raven needs to learn how to keep secrets.”
Calling the kettle black but whatever. I got out of the car and started walking toward the door.
She followed and walked up to my side. “Just be nice, I know he’s a lot, but he’s still my dad. You don’t have to love him, but respect him.”
I almost tripped.
Respect?
Where was his when I asked to see him all those years ago?
When I begged for answers?
Where was the respect when everything was conveniently buried beneath names with too much power and money to follow? Gone.
I’d lost respect for anyone who lorded their power over me the day my little brother was murdered—the day I had to shoot my twin in the head—I’ve done nothing but lose consecutively for years.
Never again.
I'd rather drink more Vescovi poison.
"Copy,” I whispered, sliding my fingers into my pocket. They closed around the threadbare scrap of fabric. It was blue, it matched the cape from his superhero bear. I carried it with me; it was more important than any of my weapons because it reminded me why I had them in the first place.
Vengeance.
On his behalf.
He no longer had a voice, a body—I would be both.
And when all was said and done, I would be the judge, jury, and executioner if he was guilty—and if he was…
He would be dead.
And I would be the one delivering the welcome blow.
She wanted me to infiltrate the Vescovi family? Fine. Easy. What she didn’t know? It gave me the perfect segue to infiltrate hers. Keep your friends close—and your enemies closer.
Her first mistake was assuming that I was anything but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Her second was thinking I was safe.
And her third? Thinking she could win a game I’d already been playing for years.
A game I helped make the rules to.
A game where only one person would win.
7
LOUIS
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that he does not become one. — Frederich Nietzsche
The doors opened before she touched them, polished brass swinging inward like a stage reveal—except she wasn’t the star. She was the proverbial sacrifice.
Laughter echoed against the high marble ceilings, distorted by the clink of crystal glasses and the hollow applause of people paid to smile. Suits stood like shadows along the perimeter, all polished shoes and loaded intentions. The room was drenched in wealth—blood money in gold trim and velvet-lined chairs.
And at the center of it all stood her father. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit, thick dark hair was cut close to his skull, his neck tattoo snaked up past his collar just enough to look intimidating. His blue eyes were calculated, cautious as they scanned the room.
Dante Alfero’s presence cut sharper than a mother fucking machete. As soon as he saw her, his expression softened like she was the only thing that existed on this planet—until his gaze fell on me.
Then the man moved. Fast. Like a cobra striking.
Tempest barely had time to part her lips before her father wrapped me in an iron embrace, hands slapping my back with a little too much force, like he was measuring the weight of the man who had just married his daughter and was going to find him wanting even if it meant he had to cut off some skin to prove it. Great.
“Son,” Dante said, and it sounded more like a threat than a greeting. I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but that would probably earn me the point of a knife in my side so I kept my expression neutral.