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)
He tore his gaze from the women to give me a bitter smile. “I don’t lie to you. You can trust in my word.”
His fingers around my hand tightened, and he tugged me along, past the women and the men who had finally noticed us and turned to horrified spectators. Seeing fear and fascination on other people’s faces when they saw Nestore was becoming normal. Nestore was a formidable sight with his height, scars, and long fur coat. At least he wore combat boots outside of the mansion. I could only imagine how much more unsettling he would look to people if he walked around everywhere barefoot.
A tall Asian woman stood behind the bar, mixing cocktails. Her dark eyes zoomed in on me for a heartbeat before she focused on Nestore, her expression not giving anything away. Tiny stars were tattooed into the skin above her left eyebrow and the word “blessed” over the right.
“Where is he?” Nestore asked.
“In the second room on the left. He’s busy. Fabiano is in the office,” she said. Something about her intonation was slightly off, and a closer look revealed she had two barbell piercings in her tongue. Her eyes met mine for a heartbeat, curious, before she busied herself with her work again.
Nestore tugged me farther along through another door. Behind it, several women sat on a half-moon-shaped sofa and had a breakfast of donuts and black coffee.
They fell silent when they spotted us. Their gazes lingered on me before they lowered their heads. The oldest, a very tall, slender African American woman, maybe in her early thirties, rose to her feet. “Do you want anything, Mr. Romano?”
“No,” he clipped. Without another word, we moved along toward a door at the end of the corridor. I couldn’t help but wonder if Nestore had slept with any of these women. They worked for him. It was common for powerful men to use the women who worked for them like that. What else had they done? One of them had very voluminous lips, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how she might have pleasured Nestore with them. It made my heart ache and made me want to claim Nestore for myself in every way. He wore a ring that marked him as mine, but how much did that mean in our world?
Nestore opened the door to his office when another door creaked open at the end of the corridor. Remo stepped out, shirtless and with an unbuckled belt.
I averted my eyes as he approached us and buckled his belt. “Your girls are indeed very skilled. They kept me entertained for longer than most.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll extend the compliment,” Nestore said neutrally.
I glanced at his passive face. Had he tested their skills?
I shoved the thought aside. It was the past. Nestore was mine now. Or was he?
Remo’s gaze hit me with its cold scrutiny. I forced a smile. “Maybe you can learn a trick or two to please your husband.”
“She pleases me,” Nestore clipped, and my heart swelled with warmth.
Remo looked doubtful but didn’t say anything. Silence reigned around us except for the low hum of chatter and the occasional clang of a cup.
“I’m short on time,” Remo muttered.
Nestore motioned for him to go ahead into the office. He and I entered right behind Remo. Inside, Fabiano lounged on the massive brown leather sofa and watched a video on his phone. Upon closer look, I could tell it was a cage fight. He sat up when we entered, his eyebrows rising when he spotted me. His piercing blue eyes were as cold as ice. His face suggested he was everyone’s darling, but I knew better than to trust a pretty face.
“Nestore wants to show her the business,” Remo said. “But first, we need to watch one of the most successful fights in Camorra betting history.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about the business, especially if it involved naked women and violent fights. Nestore turned on a screen on the wall across from the sofa, and the image of a pit appeared. It looked like a Roman amphitheater. It had to be the fighting pit where Nestore had taken me shortly after my arrival. Or did the Camorra have more than one like that? They liked to unsettle people, and that definitely did the trick.
“This is the kind of extravagance only an Underboss in LA can pull off,” Remo said with a twisted smile.
I shuddered at the memory of the fights that Nestore and I had witnessed there. Fabiano and Remo exchanged a look. I didn’t care if they thought I was sensitive. The presence of another brutal place so close to where Nestore and I lived was horrendous. The basement was bad enough. Nestore would never find peace if he kept violence in his life.