Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
“Is he coming home? Is he coming to visit? Why did you talk to him, but I can’t?”
Again, Sal looked to Vanna. Not quite forty, the Russian didn’t look a day over thirty, if that. Her straight black hair always gleamed under the sun and her blue eyes could freeze a man where he stood.
At the moment, that man was him. To be fair, Salvatore knew better. Wherever little Carmen went, her guardian surely followed.
“Vanna,” Salvatore greeted. “Beautiful day.”
“It is, isn’t it? Someone wants gelato, go figure.”
He smiled, but she didn’t return it.
“I think they’re waiting on you to begin,” she told him, referring to the boss’s quarterly dues.
“I better not keep them, then,” he agreed.
Vanna’s gaze never wavered from him as he climbed steps and made for the front door. All the while, the constant refrain of Nico, Nico, Nico echoed from Carmen. He could practically hear her silently cursing him.
“The boss is waiting in the dining room with the others,” the enforcer manning the front door informed Salvatore.
“You act like this is my first time.”
He didn’t wait for the response and almost missed the sound of the man exiting the house to stand at the ready outside with the snap of his loafers against marble floor. The whole damn house might as well be carved straight from Italian marble. Salvatore hated every inch of it, despite having quite a bit of Calcutta marble himself throughout his own home.
Perhaps, he despised the way the man procured it more than its prominence, but that would take emotional energy he didn’t currently have to expend just to dig into it all.
And that would do him no good now.
While he had a moment, Salvatore pulled out his phone to give more than a passing glance at Larkin’s earlier reply.
Sal’s text sat directly above the response: What time did she come up to the main house?
Larkin’s reply had his molars sore. Same time she has been—about two-thirty.
In the fucking morning.
His daughter’s sudden need to spend her late evenings and early morning hours with Nico at the guesthouse was yet another thing he couldn’t deal with right now. The sight of Matty standing on one side of the closed doors at the entrance of the large, stately dining room of the Russo home reminded him of that fact. Marco, poised on the other side, minding the appearance of his fingernails, as an unmade man could not attend a proper tribute with made men, really hammered the nail home for Salvatore.
He sent off a quick text to Larkin so he could deal with at least one half of the equation that had become Frankie and Nico: I want to see Nico as soon as I’m home.
Larkin’s reply buzzed after Salvatore pocketed the phone. He didn’t need confirmation to know his head of security would make sure his instruction was followed to the letter. As for his daughter, he would circle back to that.
“Matty,” Salvatore greeted.
Marco’s gaze slid Salvatore’s way as Matty replied, “Good to see you, Sal.”
“I’m not that late, am I?”
“Late enough,” Marco muttered.
Salvatore had been foolish to hope Marco would, if not outright avoid him, remain silent in his presence during the visit. He hadn’t seen him once since the accident. He wouldn’t, however, pretend to even stand to be in Marco’s presence. Whatever remaining grace he used to give Giorgio’s eldest son had been left behind in a ditch, along with parts of Salvatore’s favorite Mercedes.
“I’m sorry,” Salvatore said, turning his attention with a shift of his head in Marco’s direction, “were you addressing me?”
Marco’s jaw clenched and his reply came out tight. “No.”
“Oh, because it sounded like you were.”
His lips moved to deny it again.
Salvatore stepped closer. Too close if the way Marco instantly pressed his lips together and looked down at the floor was any indication.
That meant Giorgio had done something. At the very least, he warned Marco. He didn’t just poke at a scab when he put Frankie’s life in real danger. Marco tore open an old scar.
“A reason, Marco,” Salvatore murmured, not even caring if Matty could hear the threats that would very likely be taken back to the boss as soon as the meeting ended. “That’s all I need from you after what you did. A fucking reason. Give me one, please.”
Slowly, Marco’s gaze lifted, full of venom and fury. He said nothing, though.
“Daddy’s got that leash on tight, huh?” Salvatore asked, smirking. “Good. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll use it to hang you.”
Matty cleared his throat, then. “The boss is—”
“Waiting. Yeah,” Salvatore said, heading in. “I know.”
He opened the fucking door himself.
“Finally!” boomed Giorgio the second Salvatore entered the space.
He said nothing as quiet chatter passed from man to man down the long table. The glittering, car-sized chandelier hanging from the center of the vaulted ceiling took most of his attention as he headed his usual spot at the far end nearest to Giorgio.