Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
The door is open, and I’m about to walk in when he barks out, “I don’t give a shit!”
There’s a loud bang, and I jump, imagining it’s his fist hitting the wood desk.
“Lock him up. We need some goddamn answers. And then I’ll slice his throat myself. I’ll meet you there.”
I hold my breath, debating whether to leave or go in, but before I can decide, Dominick storms out of the door, running straight into me. Because he didn’t know I was there, I fly back, landing on the floor with a thump.
With him towering over me, flashbacks of my dad standing over my mom after he hit her flit through my mind, and I find myself closing my eyes, preparing for the worst.
Only the worst doesn’t come.
“Jesus,” Dominick hisses, gently lifting me off the floor and carrying me into the living room. “Are you okay? What were you doing?”
I open my eyes just in time to see him glance from me to the office door and back.
“Were you spying on me?”
He quirks a brow, and I squirm for him to put me down, but he only holds me tighter.
“You lied,” I choke out.
“What?”
“You said you would keep your business out of this home. I was coming to talk to you and heard you tell someone that you would slice his throat yourself.”
Dominick’s eyes go wide.
“What if it had been Damien? He could’ve heard your conversation. Is that what you want? For our son to know that his father is a killer?”
“Fuck.” He scrubs his hand down his face.
I notice his stubble has turned into a full-grown beard. His eyes … they look cold, and underneath them, his tanned skin is dark, like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Are you okay?”
He sighs. “Shit’s hit the fan. Somebody keeps going after our shipments. We lost one, costing us hundreds of thousands of dollars, but they fucked up with this last one, and we were able to catch one of them. He’s being held at the warehouse, waiting to be interrogated. I wasn’t thinking when I spoke. I’m not used to having to censor what I say.”
“If you’d rather we move somewhere else …” His jaw clenches, so I add, “Not another city. But we could move somewhere else. To another home. I was actually thinking I could start looking for a job—”
“Peyton,” he growls, “you’re not going anywhere. I would never hurt you or our son. I would kill myself before either of you hurt in any way.”
I swallow thickly, wanting to believe him. He’s done nothing to show me otherwise, but it’s hard to separate the two—the violent businessman and the man currently sitting on the couch, holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
His phone vibrates in his hand, and he tightens his fist around it. “I have to go.”
I swallow around the lump lodged in my throat, and instead of getting up, he glances at me.
“I’ve been distracted the past several days, but I want you and Damien here.” He tucks a few wayward strands of hair behind my ear. “We’ll talk when I get home.”
I nod, and then he stands, sets me down on the couch, and walks out the door while I stay where I am, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I agreed to move in here, but I don’t think I can do this. Even if he keeps his business out of the home, I still know what he’s doing when he leaves.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Brielle says, stepping out of the shadows. “How can you possibly be with a man who’s capable of playing cars with his son one minute and then shooting someone the next?”
She saunters over, looking put together, as always. Today, she’s sporting a high-waisted, wide-legged crimson pant set with a sleeveless crop top that shows off just a hint of her flat belly. Her blonde hair looks to have freshly done highlights, and her makeup is flawless. Finishing her look is a pair of matching heels with the signature red sole. I’m not sure what she does all day, but I’ve yet to see her looking anything but perfect.
Meanwhile, I’m in an oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts, making me look like a homeless person.
“Get the thought of leaving out of your head,” she says, stopping in front of me. “Even if you somehow convince my brother to let you go, once you’re in this world, there is no getting out. Everyone’s already talking. They know Dominick has a son—an heir to the almighty Antonov empire. Matteo has spread the word that Anthony tried to take him, and there’s a bull’s-eye on his forehead with a hefty price tag.”
“You got out,” I note, remembering Dominick mentioned she was in Russia for almost five years.
“And now I’m back, and not by choice. You can fight against it all you want, but it won’t change anything.” She walks over and joins me on the couch.