Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
The first sign we passed said Fort Salonga, and the next said Northport.
It was a residential area, but the moment I looked out of my window and saw water shimmering in the distance, I blanched.
Not good. Definitely not good.
Yeah. I was sure of it then and my gut sank.
Ettore had brought me out here to kill me.
The dread in my stomach twisted and turned until I felt ill, but outwardly, I remained unmoved. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen. Nothing I could say or do would change things.
In this world, an eye for an eye was the most common form of retaliation and I had a feeling that when Ettore lined up his shot and pulled the trigger, he would not miss.
Right then, I had many regrets, but my biggest would be not saying goodbye to my sister.
Vincenza was… difficult. She was strict, severe and unforgiving. Often times, she could be unknowingly cruel. But she did the best she could with a broken heart and an equally broken mind. Although she didn’t always give me what I needed, like a loving family with a sister who was kind and affectionate, I had to appreciate how hard it had been on her.
She was there that night. When it happened. And Vincenza witnessed it unfold.
Our father’s untimely death was seared into her brain and I could still smell the burning flesh whenever I was in her presence.
There were conflicting reports of what had happened that night, but one thing that wasn’t ever in question was who pulled the trigger. I glanced over at the striking man I had taken as my husband and my heart screamed out to know why.
Why did he do it?
He didn’t seem like a wholly unreasonable man. But then the mottled bruises circling my throat offered a difference of opinion.
Our father’s death was a cloud that followed us everywhere we went. I could see it. That day, at the church, how many of his men looked at me like I was scum. As if I were lower than dirt. Their eyes blazed with the question. How could I do it? How could I marry the man who killed my father?
As if I’d had the choice.
Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed the car slow. Wherever it was he had taken me, we were there. Ettore parked in the drive of the stunning waterfront property, turned off the car, and let himself out. I looked up at the enormous colonial. It had to be at least 1700 square feet and the property itself was, at first glance, a couple of acres. I had never seen that many gables on a roof before. The exterior was a subtle in its beauty. Intricate stonework was laid over the walls, the plethora of mixed sized windows were all painted a uniform white, and the yard was immaculately kept. It looked pristine in a way that made me feel bad that it would soon be marred with my blood.
I was so enamored by the house that I got a little spooked when the door beside me suddenly opened. Ettore stood there, patient and waiting, and when he did what I knew he would, I sighed under my breathe and took his outstretched hand.
My heart skipped a beat when his warm fingers circled mine. That meant something, right? It had to. I had never been so affected by a man before. So moved in his presence, floating at a single touch. I wish I had more time to explore these uncomfortable but tangible feelings because they were worthy of discovery.
Really, heart? Of all men, it had to be this one?
My brain let out a bitter laugh and whispered, “Karma’s a bitch.”
I was aware of just how fucked up it was that I would go to my grave quietly and obediently simply because he desired it and I wished to please him.
So, as we began the dreaded descent to what I was certain would be my final resting place, you can understand my confusion when Ettore unlocked the front door, let us in, released my hand with a jerk of his chin and rumbled, “Come on. You get a quick tour.” He paused to look me up and down, desire burning in his eyes, “Ending on the master bedroom.”
Um. What did he just say?
I didn’t dare reach for the ember of hope that ignited then.
What did he mean by that?
He walked on and I followed. Of course, I followed. I was his pet. Docile. Compliant. And – God help me – I wanted to be good for him. Right then, as that pesky cinder of hope lit into something bigger, I silently chastised myself. Vincenza warned me about my naivete. As it so happened, it was a warning I should have heeded.