Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I’ve been looking all over for Viola,” he says, voice too loud, too forced, trying to sound casual. “Some associates want to say hello and offer their condolences.”
I don’t even blink. “Accept the condolences on her behalf,” I say, my gaze sharp and lethal, the kind that has made stronger men piss themselves. “She’s busy right now.”
Mario knows better than to test me. He bows curtly, but enough to show submission, and backs out without another word.
I turn my eyes back to her, waiting. The ball is in her court now.
Chapter Eleven
VIOLA
The way Mario barged into the library scared me more than I want to admit. The sound of his knuckles rapping sharply against the heavy oak door jolted through me like electricity, making the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand. A cold rush flooded my veins as pure, primal fear left a metallic taste on my tongue. My pulse spiked so fast I could feel it hammering in my throat, in my wrists, behind my eyes.
Every instinct screamed that this man, only two years older than me but strutting like he already owned every inch of this house and me, could drag me down into a pit even darker than what I’d already survived. I can see it in his eyes. It will be so easy for him to dispose of my body in a vat of acid if I do not behave in the way he expects of me.
Yet here I am, standing only inches from Ricci Santori—the man who just told me what he wants in exchange for saving me is… me—and I feel no spike of fear that makes my knees lock. No gut-clenching dread that leaves me tasting bile. No instinctive urge to step back, or to put a great distance between us as possible. In fact, I’m interested. Wary—always wary, because trust is a luxury I lost years ago—but I’m not scared.
Why?
The question spins through my mind like smoke, slow and impossible to catch, while I study him closer than I ever have before, letting my eyes linger in a way I’ve never dared, never allowed myself. He is dangerous, but by God, he’s beautiful in a way that makes my breath catch. Everything about him is undeniably masculine. The sharp cut of his jaw, shadowed with the faintest hint of stubble, the hard line of his mouth that rarely softens into anything resembling warmth. Those piercing, whiskey eyes—amber and gold flecks that seem to see straight through every wall I’ve built, every layer of ice I’ve wrapped myself in. His glossy dark hair falls over his forehead in a way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back, to feel the texture of it under my fingertips. Tall and broad, he is the most powerful person in our world right now, the newly crowned Godfather. So easily he could kill and dispose of my dead body, and yet I am not afraid of him.
The thoughts circle and circle, tightening like a noose, until I force myself to stop and consider things logically instead of letting my body betray me with this strange, warm pull low in my belly, this unfamiliar heat that makes my skin flush and my thighs press together.
The facts are brutally simple. Even in my wildest dream, I did not dare to pray for such an outcome. His name and protection. Freedom from my father. The ability to walk away with no consequences. Unheard of in la cosa nostra. It’s almost like a gift from heaven. This is clearly my best and only option.
If I walk out of this house without his protection, I walk out with nothing. Not a dollar in my name, not a safe place to lay my head, not even my mother’s weak arms to fall into. She’d hand me over again in a heartbeat if it meant clearing another debt for my father. I’ll probably be captured and dead within a year, or even worse and more likely now that I am no longer a prized virgin, passed around between men, used and abused until I’m completely broken, then discarded like a cheap doll.
But here in front of me stands a powerful man, telling me I can walk away at any time I choose. Yes, it sounds too good to be true, and men like him don’t make promises they don’t intend to twist, but I realize I am not in a position to bargain.
I picture Mario’s greedy eyes, the way they’d devoured me like I was already his to take; the lawyer’s slick offer of a penthouse and “freedom”. If I’m going to give myself away again—if my body is the only currency I have left—it might as well be to the most powerful man I can find.
At least with him there’s a chance I won’t wake up bruised and bleeding. I must protect my heart though. I must stay cold and detached, keep any real feeling locked away behind the thick strong walls I’ve built so carefully… Until the day comes when I can make up some excuse and leave. That’s the plan. That’s the only way I’ll make it through this without losing what little of myself I have left.