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 can’t think of any reason he would want to see me. It wouldn’t be sexual. I literally belonged to his father. Stepmothers are off-limits even in their twisted world. The thought brings a reassuring comfort. It would be ugly if I had to reject him. Very ugly. In fact, I might not come out of it alive.
I wipe the tears from my face, repair my make-up, and slide the sunglasses back on. Straightening my back with deliberate effort, I roll my shoulders back. Be strong, I tell my reflection silently.
You’ve survived worse. You can survive this.
I draw in a shaky breath, rise from the dresser, and head downstairs. The weight of what’s coming presses down on me like an invisible hand.
Chapter Six
RICCI
The entire living room and the sprawling gardens beyond are overflowing with people. Laughter rises in low bursts, glasses clink, and the rich scents of prosciutto, aged cheeses, and strong espresso drift from the silver trays being passed around. Everyone is here to mourn in public and scheme in private.
But she is nowhere in sight.
Funny thing is, I’m quite certain at this point that I can sense her presence. It’s like the air itself changes when she’s near. And that’s exactly what happens when she finally arrives.
Very little in this world tenses me up anymore. I’ve stared down barrels of guns and walked through rooms of men who wanted me dead. But all of a sudden, I feel it—a prickling of heat racing down my spine, slow and electric, settling low in my gut. My body knows before my eyes do.
Suddenly, I lose focus on the man speaking to me, droning on about territory lines. His voice fades into background noise. I pretend to flag a passing waiter with a sharp tilt of my chin. As I reach for a glass of whiskey from his tray, I spot her at the edge of the room. She stands there alone, poised and still, like she’s waiting for someone. The black dress hugs her slim frame perfectly, the fabric falling over her curves in a way that makes my throat tighten.
I ogle her openly for a few seconds, drinking in every detail while my blood heats, but I make sure to keep a slight, distant expression on my face in case anyone—including her—is watching. A mask of cool indifference I’ve worn for years. It doesn’t take long to figure out who she’s waiting for. The loud, obnoxious voice of Mario cuts through the crowd as he makes his way toward her with that predatory swagger of his.
“My dearest stepmother,” he calls out, loud enough for half the room to hear, opening his arms like he’s about to pull her into an embrace.
I can’t control the annoyance that flashes across my face now, my jaw tightening hard. Just before I turn away from the aggravating scene of Mario trying to wrap his arms around her, my eyes collide with Viola’s.
For a second, the entire world comes to a complete stop.
Everything else—the noise, the people, the clinking glasses—disappears. There’s only her. Those green eyes locked on mine, pulling me under like a riptide. My heart slams against my ribs. Heat floods my body so fast it leaves me dizzy. I want her so badly in that moment it is painful. A raw, obsessive hunger that claws at my insides.
Then she turns towards Mario, and the spell shatters. The noise of the environment crashes back in all at once.
I whirl away in confusion.
I’ve broken the necks of men with my bare hands. I’ve watched the light leave their eyes without blinking. And yet one single glance from this woman can completely remove the floor from underneath my feet. She wrecks me in ways no enemy ever could.
I feel drugged, completely off-balance, my pulse still hammering. Without taking a sip of the whiskey, I set the untouched glass back on a passing tray, and pretend to listen to the conversation, though every cell in my body is tuned to her.
Chapter Seven
VIOLA
Ipull back from Mario’s attempted embrace just before his arms can close around me, my body recoiling on pure instinct, twisting so sharply the contact never happens, but I’m shaken—shaken to the core by something far more dangerous than Mario’s clumsy hug.
It’s what I saw across the crowded room in the eyes of the new Capo del Capo.
Ricci Santori.
For years I’ve seen him move through these halls like a steely shadow, and yet his eyes have never met mine. Not once. I thought I was invisible to him, even though I’ve always been curious about him, drawn in some strange and forbidden way I could never name. Somehow, he seemed to have more depth than the rest, even though the stories Daisy chatted about him are blood-curdling. One misstep, one wrong glance, and he could blow my head off without blinking. And yet, in a way I’ve never been able to explain, I’ve felt safer around him than anyone else in this Godforsaken world. Safer than with my own husband. Safer than with my own father.