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)
“He—he killed his son?”
“No, he let him go,” Leo said. “But he killed Luigi and his closest captains. Told everyone else if they surrendered, they could work for Dad instead. All of them did. And that’s the full story.”
“It sounds like he knew Lombardi would cross you.”
“Yeah, he tried to tell Dad that, but you know how stubborn he is.”
So my family was alive because of Wolfe.
Leo’s eyes trailed off for a while as he became lost in thought. “I’ve heard tales about him from Cosa Nostra, but you know, shit always gets exaggerated and twisted. But now…I believe every word.”
16
FRANCESCA
All the tables on the patio were pushed together to form a long line underneath the hanging white lights. Silverware and linens were supplied for every chair, and I helped the girls get enough wine bottles from the warehouse to cover the tables for the men. Dinner was cooking in the kitchen, and it was a furnace in there from all the bodies and the hot stoves and ovens.
I happened to look out the window at the right time and spotted Wolfe moving up the stairs to the patio, wearing black jeans and his heavy boots with a long-sleeved linen shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The dark ink was visible over his taut skin, highlighting all the muscles underneath. Even his forearm was ripped, like he worked out every day in addition to running around here and breaking skulls.
“Cristo…” He was so hot I couldn’t even look at him without getting turned on. Hopefully we didn’t sit near each other at dinner. Otherwise, that would just be torture. I’d never been with a man so unbelievably good-looking. If someone told me I’d dreamed all of this, I’d probably believe him.
The semolina bread was sliced into pieces and placed in the baskets, and I carried them to the patio upstairs and started to set them on the tables, along with the bottles of olive oil. The second they touched the tiled surface, the men dove their hands inside and began to eat like it was their first meal of the day.
When I moved farther up the table, I noticed my father sitting at the head where he always sat, accompanied by my brother and his most trusted captain, Elio. But Wolfe was also there.
And there was an empty seat across from him.
Oh no…
When I reached their end of the table, I felt Wolfe stare me down like we were alone together, not in the presence of my family and a hundred men who worked for them. I set the baskets of bread and the bottles of olive oil down in the center. “Dinner will be ready shortly.” I looked at my father and no one else, too afraid to let my stare get anywhere near Wolfe.
I suspected that extra seat was for me, but I chose to pretend I didn’t notice.
I returned to the kitchen, and the girls started to serve the platters of food, different kinds of pasta and sauce, along with fish and chicken. I helped them get the food out to the hungry men, music from the outdoor speakers adding to the ambiance of celebration.
I discreetly moved to the other table at the end, where the women ate once dinner was served.
“Frankie!”
I cringed, my back to my brother at the other table.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “Get your ass over here.”
“Ugh, fucking Leonardo.” I cursed his name then rose to my feet and walked around the opposite side of the table. I approached where they sat at the end, my heart racing a million miles a minute as I came closer to Wolfe. I was alone with him all the time, but I wasn’t sure how I could act like myself when he was there in public. In our meetings, no one paid attention to me, but this was a very different setting.
Leo pulled out the chair for me without standing. “What are you? Stupid?”
I scooted my chair in, my eyes down, aware that Wolfe was right across from me. “We are related, so…very well could be.”
Leo rolled his eyes then reached for the tongs to start filling his plate with pasta.
My father was engaged in conversation with Elio, so his stare was elsewhere. My brother was going to town on the food, so I really had nowhere to look except directly across from me.
My eyes lifted and looked at him, smirking like this was pure entertainment for him. “Wine, Signorina Mancini?” He grabbed the bottle and filled the glass for me without waiting for my answer, already knowing I preferred red over white.
“Thank you…”
He pushed the wine toward me then sat there, obnoxiously handsome under the white lights, a dark watch on his wrist, some of his ink creeping up from the neckline of his t-shirt.