Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
He let out a little laugh. “Sure you don’t want to join?”
“I would, but it seems I have business.”
Chase tilted his head and then put a hand on my shoulder. “You look pissed.”
“Good, I feel pissed.”
Tex barked out a laugh. “Did we interrupt play time?”
Son of a bitch, my fingers itched to shoot him.
“Does it really matter?” I fired back.
Phoenix let out a sigh as a few men I didn’t recognize got out of their cars and made their way toward me.
The Sinacore family.
I’d met one of their men this last year, and I’d made him look like a fool to his own father.
He’d wanted his trust fund, and I’d allowed him to access it early. His father wasn’t exactly thrilled when his perfect son returned home without the bride that had been promised to him since birth — along with her inheritance.
My response?
Whoops.
After all, Renee and Vic were married now. And Italians didn’t break vows of any kind. Marriage was sacred, so they were fucked.
But their memories were long.
And I knew they weren’t pleased to welcome me into a family that could trace its heritage back to when they sat on thrones and wore crowns.
Sergio bumped into me while I was watching the men, and then he slipped something into my pocket.
He pretended like he didn’t do anything.
I pretended right along with him.
What the hell was he doing?
“Morning.” I crossed my arms. “Are we doing this here or do we need alcohol?”
The man who approached was at least six inches shorter than me, and his gray pinstriped suit did nothing to make him appear taller. He had silver hair and was wearing dark Ray Bans. In his right hand, he held a single white rose.
“So, this is the great Andrei Petrov,” he said with a thick Italian accent.
“I would shake your hand but I wouldn’t want to taint your skin with my Russian blood.” I sneered.
“Half!” He barked. “Half Russian. We will need alcohol for this.” He motioned toward the club and then sidestepped me.
The hell just happened?
Chase had already disappeared into the club, and from the filtered sounds drifting from behind the doors, he was doing what he did best. Killing.
I wondered if his loyalty was deep enough to me, to not kill her if the time came.
And then I realized that rules were rules.
And his job was to carry out the orders of the Capo.
With an inward curse, I walked into the dim club and made my way up to the bar, it was too early for most of the staff to report, which meant if there was blood, they wouldn’t have to witness it, not that they weren’t already immune to it.
Everyone sat in the VIP section, on couches, bar stools. I reached behind the counter and grabbed, a few bottles of wine, along with a few bottles of whiskey and vodka. At this point we’d need the entire damn bar.
I knew what was coming.
I knew it.
“Your mother’s a whore!” my dad yelled. “An Italian whore! That’s why she’s dying!”
I winced as I reached for her hand.
She looked so frail.
Weak.
She gave me a small smile as he stomped out of the room.
“Come here, Andrei.”
I climbed up to her bed and touched her face.
It was cold.
I hated it.
It was death.
My hands shook as more of the memory surfaced.
I wore gloves because I didn’t want to feel warmth.
Because it reminded me that she was cold.
So fucking cold.
The memory surged forward.
I grabbed a blanket to cover her, but she was still shivering.
And then she said very softly so that only I could hear as men moved around the room.
They said words like torture.
Water boarding.
Skin grafting.
I didn’t know what they meant.
“She knows too much. He wants his time with her first though, wants to shame her…”
Another man left.
And then my mom crooked her finger with tears in her eyes. “Andrei, I love you more than life itself.”
“I love you.” I didn’t understand love much. My mother wasn’t often around me, my dad wouldn’t allow it. But I felt something inside my chest for her. Something important.
She pressed a finger to her lips and then revealed a knife out from under the blanket. “I need you to do this for me, Andrei.”
My eyes widened in horror.
What was she asking?
“He will kill me regardless. This way I feel no pain. If you love me, you will help me.”
It was unfair to ask your own blood for that sort of mercy.
I shook my head.
“Please.” More tears streamed down her cheeks.
I shook my head again. “No, I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I can’t!” I screamed, not realizing I was sobbing over her body, not realizing that the minute I’d tried tossing myself onto her, she’d aimed the tip of the knife to her chest.
My weight sent it directly into her heart.
I was seven.
“You know why we’re here.” The silver-haired man grabbed a bottle of wine and began pouring in the glasses I’d grabbed.