Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Had he been in the house during the attack? Was he dead?
The thought filled me with relief.
Nestore stopped abruptly, and I bumped into him. He put his index finger against his lips, a warning in his eyes. I gave a jerky nod as I followed him farther down the long corridor toward the foyer. Nestore squinted as the light from the chandelier and crystal lamps hit us. We’d lived in the half dark for a while, and he hadn’t seen daylight in far longer.
My heart throbbed fiercely when Nestore led us toward the ballroom, the knife brandished in front of him. How was a knife supposed to protect us from a large number of attackers? An image of Nestore killing the guard with his bare teeth flitted through my mind and made me shudder. Maybe Nestore’s fury would be the weapon.
“Nestore?” a careful male voice asked.
Nestore’s entire body became taut as a bowstring, a look of shock passing his face before suspicion and wariness took their place. I glanced past him at a tall guy with chestnut-brown hair who had a gun in his hand and blood splatters all over his gray combat pants and T-shirt. An angry red scar ran across his left cheek. Who was he?
Behind him, two even taller guys with black hair appeared, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, but with a gleam in their eyes that revealed they’d been through a lot. Both were covered in blood and carried guns.
Nestore’s expression became feral, his eyes narrowing. “Falcone,” he spat like it was a curse.
I flinched at the viciousness in his voice, my eyes darting to the black-haired guys, and it finally clicked as I looked at the one without any visible tattoos.
This was Benedetto’s oldest son, Remo Falcone.
My cousin Niccolo was alive. He was here. He was here with the Falcones.
Anger and a renewed sense of betrayal overcame me. Benedetto Falcone had been behind the killing of my father. He had approved of my torture and captivity. The Falcones were my enemies.
“Come with us into the ballroom. Let’s not discuss what needs to be spoken about in a hallway,” Niccolo said, putting his gun back into the holster at his back. The Falcones didn’t lower their guns. Their eyes were alert. They considered me a threat, as they should. Amelia trembled against my back. She was scared and for good reason.
I immediately recognized Remo Falcone. He bore a disturbing resemblance to Benedetto, with his dark eyes and black hair, and his face reflected the utter madness he was famous for. His brother, beside him, carried an air of calm I couldn’t fathom. It was mirrored in his cold gray eyes. I had to look away.
My cousin watched me with a pleading expression. What was he expecting from me? A warm greeting?
I wanted to believe that Niccolo wasn’t my enemy, our enemy, but the past had taught me not to trust anyone—except for Amelia.
“I thought you were dead,” I said to Niccolo in accusation.
“I thought the same about you. I searched for you when things escalated at your party, but when I didn’t find you and saw all the dead bodies, I ran. I didn’t find out you were alive until recently, when I joined Remo on his quest. I immediately wanted to save you, cousin. We spent the last year winning back California to get the chance to attack this mansion.”
He sounded sincere, but distrust was ingrained in every fiber of my being.
“Join us in the ballroom.” Remo Falcone motioned toward the double doors.
“Behind these doors, your father betrayed my family and slaughtered them like pigs.”
He looked at me in a way that felt too familiar, as if I reminded him of someone he knew. “We have no intention to hurt you or that girl cowering behind your back. We came to free you. We are here to give you what you deserve and desire.”
“You know nothing about me,” I rasped. Achille had told me he’d offer Amelia to Remo if the chance ever arose. What if the oldest Falcone wanted my dove? Could I kill him and the men who obeyed him?
His face broke into a smirk. “Oh, but I do. I know the look in your eyes, and I know exactly what you crave with every broken part of your damned soul.”
I shuddered because his words did something to me. They answered a call I couldn’t answer in years.
Remo and the other man turned and moved through the doors into the ballroom. Niccolo remained in the hallway with us. “You can trust me. You can trust them. Remo is a good Capo.”
“Is he Capo?” I asked.
“To everyone who matters, yes. The traitors who remain in his territory will eventually be dead. Lamorgese called himself Capo until today.”
“Where is he?” I asked with a tremor in my voice. Fear and rage battled a bloody war in my body. I wanted to feed the latter and starve the former. I was stronger than my fear.