Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“This is what your dad wanted. And it’s what you want too.”
“I never said I wanted it.”
“You wanted to take back this vineyard yourself because you said it was yours. You stormed into this house and blew Warren’s head off because this place is yours. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that. There’s nothing wrong with wanting power and money and respect. It’s fucking hot in my opinion.”
I looked out the window again.
But his stare was still on my face.
“I don’t know if I have what it takes.”
“You absolutely fucking do.”
My eyes moved back to his.
“I would tell you the truth if I didn’t believe that.”
“You would?” I asked.
“Always the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me god,” he said with a smirk. “As those Americans say.”
“I don’t know. It was pretty weak of me to let Leo come back.”
“Really?” he asked. “I thought the opposite.”
I propped my chin on my closed knuckles as I continued to look at him.
“You have earned the unwavering loyalty of all the men here, Francesca. They’re all ready to serve you—and they’re happy to do so.”
“They want to serve you.”
“And I serve you and only you,” he said before he cocked his head. “Boss.”
I nearly rolled my eyes at the title.
His smirk widened. “I love calling you that. So hot.”
“You don’t have to call me that.”
“During business hours, I do. And after hours, I can call you whatever I damn well please.” He continued to stare at me with that signature smile, looking so handsome and playful and also irritating. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He left the chair and walked up to me, looming over me like a tower. He extended his hand and waited for me to take it.
I took it and let him pull me up. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he took my hand and walked me outside, down the three flights of stairs, and then across the field to the oak tree where my father rested in eternal peace. It was sunset, the light illuminating all the branches and the trees one last time before the sun disappeared over the hills.
He stopped in front of the tree and pulled out his tanto knife before he held it out to me.
I took it by the hilt.
“You know what this is?” He planted his palm against the trunk, on top of someone’s name that had been carved in the wood.
I looked at the sea of names, seeing my brother’s first and then eventually my father’s. “Yes.”
“Your name isn’t on here.”
“No.”
“Well, I think it’s time you add it.” He moved to an empty part of the bark, between names of people who had long since passed away, maybe even generations ago. My grandfather’s name was here, and his grandfather's. “Come on.”
I moved to the spot he’d designated for me and stared at the untouched bark.
“Go ahead, boss.”
I turned to look at him, a slight smirk on my lips because he continued to call me that, and I knew he would always call me that.
He gave my ass a gentle pat of encouragement.
I gripped the knife and started to slice my name into the wood. Francesca was too long, so I stuck with Frankie. I carved my first name and then my last name, going over it several times with the tip of the knife to make sure it was distinct and would weather the seasons of time, as long as this tree lived.
“Perfect,” Wolfe said as he admired it and traced his fingers over the cuts.
I stepped back and examined the rest of the tree, searching for the place where Wolfe had carved his name when he’d been initiated into the syndicate, but I didn’t see it. “Where’s yours?”
The smile on his lips quickly faded as he continued to look at the tree. He crossed his arms as he stared at it.
I knew something was off because he should know exactly where it was. The tree wasn’t that big, and Wolfe’s memory was flawless.
He finally moved forward again and pointed his finger into the bark. “Here.”
I read the name engraved there, which was completely different from the name I knew him by.
“Cesare Barsetti.” I stared at it for a moment longer before I turned to look at him.
He kept his eyes on the tree and avoided my gaze for a bit before he finally faced me. There was a little smile on his lips, but it was ghostly and distant, like there was a lot of pain behind his former identity. “Yep…that’s me.”
I stared at the desk with my arms crossed over my chest. Stared at the grain of the wood that was highlighted by the sunshine coming through the window. Some of my father’s things had been moved by Warren, like his favorite flask, his sunglasses, a stress ball that he used to grip when I was little and I drove him up the wall. I put it all back on the desk, so it felt like he was still there with me every day.