Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Shall I send in Wolfe, Don?” Elio asked.
My father ignored him because he found whatever he’d been searching for. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket before he took a seat on the couch in the large sitting room in front of his desk, choosing a spot in the center. The other couch was empty, where our guest was supposed to sit.
As if my father hadn’t heard Elio, he grabbed a cigar and slipped the cap between his lips before he lit the foot. He sucked in a couple times to get the flames going before the smoke started to rise. “Yes.”
My father always had a cigar in his mouth for important meetings. I wasn’t sure if it was an anxious tic he had or if he just needed something to do with his hands.
I’d never tried a cigar. As much as I loved the smell of the smoke, it wasn’t my thing.
Elio left, and we sat in silence until we heard footsteps on the hardwood floor when he returned. Elio walked through the double doors first, then stepped aside.
The man who came behind him was not what I expected whatsoever.
He was tall, easily the tallest guy in the room, in black jeans and a black shirt with dark boots on his feet, and every article of his clothing looked stressed by the mass of muscle underneath. His sleeves were tight over his ripped arms, the popping veins visible even when they were covered in the dark ink that acted as a fresco over his body. His legs were more slender than his arms because of his height, but the way his jeans hugged them suggested he was ripped there too. A black watch was on his wrist.
I hadn’t even examined his face, and I was already tense. I felt his energy the second he entered the room—like this was one hell of a man. Powerful and authoritative like my father, even in another league.
I finally took in his face…and I almost wished I hadn’t.
Cristo—he was fucking beautiful.
With midnight-dark hair that was short and slightly messy, like he fidgeted with it sometimes, and eyes the color of espresso that held a slight smile, like he was an arrogant son of a bitch.
Rightfully so, walking around looking like that.
He had a shadowed jawline from the beard that probably grew in hours after he shaved it. His jawline was cut sharp as if it’d been carved with a knife by Michelangelo himself. His neck was tight too, cords visible despite the ink that crept up from underneath his t-shirt.
Instead of taking a quick scan of the room and everyone in it, he just looked at me.
Stared, really.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.
Cristo.
He helped himself to the couch across from my father, sat in the center, knees apart, his elbows and forearms resting on his thighs as his fingers interlaced. He was such a big guy that he could sit that way without leaning too far forward. His eyes shifted to my father and stayed there. The hint of a smirk faded, and he looked serious, his eyes unblinking, possessing the intensity of a kingpin rather than someone looking for employment. “Don Mancini.” He gave a slight nod as he addressed my father.
I hoped that I managed to keep a straight face. I was warm because it was a hot spring day, but now my neck felt hot like I was sitting directly next to a roaring fire in my father’s hearth. I felt a clamminess in my palms. Felt a discomfort in my stomach, like my muscles ached from being stiff for so long. I hoped all this tension hadn’t crept into my features.
My father sat up, the cigar hanging between his lips. He grabbed it, took a final puff, and then removed it from his mouth and held it between his relaxed fingers. “You’re looking for work, I understand?”
Wolfe smirked, and that I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude was so damn sexy. “No, I’m looking for a new family.”
“Family is irreplaceable.”
“So they say.” He gave a slight shrug, his smirk slowly fading away.
“Why did you leave Cosa Nostra?” my father asked bluntly.
Wolfe paused as he looked at my father, not showing fear or reverence like all the other men who’d come before him did. He seemed to be his own man, seemed to walk his own path in the dark. “We disagreed on some things.”
“Such as?”
He was quiet for a while as he stared at my father without needing to blink. Completely calm and confident and unaffected by the men in the room who all carried guns, while he carried nothing. “Business ethics.”
My father’s cigar continued to burn between his fingertips. “Breaking your vow to Cosa Nostra is a lethal offense.”
“It can be,” he said vaguely. “But deep down, they know I’m right.”