Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She studies me momentarily. “I’m in my second year, but since dad died, Michael won’t let me actually go to any classes in person so I’m just taking the few offered online. I don’t think I’m going to continue though.”
“Why wouldn’t you continue?” I glance at her. She is passionate, that I can tell from the notes I read in her books. She loves the history of art in churches, the stories that go along with them. I get it.
“I’m required to attend some classes in person. When dad was alive, I was allowed to go with soldiers. Michael has made it clear he won’t spoil me like dad did. His words.”
“Is he jealous of you?”
She glances at me. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think after what happened, dad felt guilty or something, so he tried to spend time with me, and I guess Michael didn’t like it.”
“Guilty?”
“Not because of what you said. He didn’t arrange to have us kidnapped. He didn’t…” she trails off, hiding the hand with the missing finger in her other one. “I’m not talking about this. You’re wrong about that. You know what? This was a mistake. Take me back. I want to go back.”
“Relax. We don’t have to talk about it. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I don’t know,” I say without meeting her eyes.
“Just take me back, Cassian.”
I glance at her. “I guess I’m trying to make up for what happened back there,” I say, feeling sheepish. She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. “In fact,” I start, looking over my shoulder before crossing four lanes of highway to get to the exit that we almost don’t make.
Allegra gasps, sitting up, her expression one of surprise. “What are you doing?”
“You like frozen custard?”
“What?” Car horns blare at us. She looks over her shoulder. “They’re so mad at you,” she says, turning bright amber eyes to me like she doesn’t believe I did that.
I grin, shift gears, glancing in the rear view to see one of the SUVs miss the exit. The second one makes it, and Enzo’s face in the driver’s seat tells me he’s not happy about it.
“Do you?” I ask.
“Do I what?” she asks as I drive onto a single lane road.
“Do you like frozen custard?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. I mean who doesn’t? But it’s November and it’s not even noon.”
“There’s no bad time for frozen custard.”
“Why are we talking about frozen custard?”
I reach over and close my hand over one of hers. She looks at it, then at me.
“Maybe I feel guilty, Allegra.” She looks confused. “I shouldn’t have left you in the crypt. You were scared. I am sorry about that.”
Her eyes search mine, uncertain, and she pulls her hand out from under mine, but she doesn’t argue so I take that as a win.
We fall silent, the stretch of road long. The second SUV comes into view, but it’s only us on this cloudy November morning. Allegra is silent, her mood sad.
“We used to come here when we were little,” I tell her, wanting to give her something. My own way of groveling, I suppose which is very much unlike me. “My father would bring my brother and I.” I slow, taking a hairpin turn. “Sometimes that life feels like it belonged to someone else,” I say, not sure why I say it out loud, even though it’s true. I feel her eyes on me, the weight of that silence expanding.
“Everything changes so fast. I miss my mom. A lot,” she says.
A glance shows me how her eyes glisten, but I note what she said. She misses her mom, not her dad. “I miss my family too.”
She looks at me confused. I clear my throat. “Here we are,” I say, turning onto the dead-end street where the frozen custard shop that hasn’t changed since I was little stands with its red and white checkered awning. The two windows, one to order and the other to pick up, look out at us like eyes.
“Oh, it’s closed,” she says, disappointment evident in her voice.
“Nah.” I park the car, honk twice and climb out. She opens her door as I come around to her side. I can smell the salty sea air in the brisk wind. I breathe deeply, filling up my lungs. Life seems easier here in this tiny, simple place.
I extend a hand to help her out. She looks at it, then up at me.
“I don’t bite.”
“Well, I mean, you do bite,” she says and slaps her hand over her mouth. Clearly that slip was unintentional.
My laugh is unexpected even to me, but I’m loving how she blushes. How pretty she is right now, looking at me like she is. A little shy. A little embarrassed. A lot honest. And sweet. Like no one in any mafia family should be or even could be. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her, pull her to me to keep her that way. Keep her safe from this ugly, violent world.