Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Finding no sign of her outside the VIP room was already to be expected. Their first fight in Cayed, and later on, how she had defended herself in the airport, had forced Giancarlo to accept that she was no longer the helpless girl who once needed his protection. She was strong now—-and that was yet another reason she no longer needed an imperfect being like him.
Once he was out of the club, Giancarlo only had seconds to scan the streets before a group of hired muscles blocked his way—-and not a single onlooker cared to interfere as they immediately hauled Giancarlo to a nearby alley.
This was New York, after all.
And one thing everyone did exceptionally well here was minding their own business.
The men shoved Giancarlo down on his knees, but he made no move to resist or flee. A part of him was already wondering if God would still allow him in Heaven...if he chose not to fight back.
The first punch caught Giancarlo in the jaw, but he remained silent, his stoic facade unbreakable. They dragged him to his feet, a pair of men holding him back by the arms while another fist pounded his ribs. But the pain remained negligible. Was it because he was ready to die?
From just a block away, the night rang with the usual noise of revelry. The heart-thumping beats of whatever song it was that the DJ in Dauphin Tueur club's was spinning. The drunken cheers mingling with laughter. The roar of powerful car engines speeding past.
But despite world doing its best to drown Giancarlo in its mind-numbing cacophony, a quiet voice inside of his head was still clearly audible, and His every word underscored by sadness.
Why are you throwing your life away?
His Son was sad. For him.
Does My death on the cross mean that little to you?
Giancarlo's eyes squeezed shut. It meant everything. Everything. But how could he still live, knowing that he would be a burden to the people he loved?
I didn't die for You to replace me as someone else's savior.
I died to save you.
I died in order for you to live.
Giancarlo's powerful body began to shake, and his attackers laughed. They all thought fear had finally overcome him, but on this they could not be more wrong. For it was understanding that crashed through Giancarlo like a tidal wave.
When you are weak, you are strong.
Because of Me.
Remember?
What Sarica and La Strega had been trying to tell him—-but what Giancarlo had been too lost in his own self-pity to comprehend—-suddenly became blindingly clear.
Fear had made Giancarlo see himself in one of his father's men, a man whose limp had prevented him from protecting his master.
Just as Giancarlo's injury had kept him from reaching Sarica in time.
Self-pity and stupid pride had made Giancarlo see his injury as a physical weakness.
But what it truly exposed was the weakness of his faith.
Giancarlo had thought himself strong because of his own abilities.
But such strength had limits and imperfections.
Human strength failed and expired...while God's strength was infallible and infinite.
Giancarlo had forgotten that with Him by his side, he had more than enough, and there was nothing for him to fear.
He had God.
God.
And just as this truth united Giancarlo's mind and heart, body and soul—-
That was when Cesare burst into the alley like an avenging angel, his massively letha frame filling the narrow space, and his signature brutality on full display as he carved a path with calculated swings of his powerful fists.
In his wake emerged Massimo, his coldly charming smile never slipping as he easily sidestepped the an enemy's blade. His every move was taunting but precise, and one stab was all it took for his opponents to crumple. Sedated but not poisoned, and they had God to thank for Massimo's changed heart.
From the shadows came two more: Ezio, whose stealthy aways made him seem one with darkness, and Lorenzo, his sister's husband, who was not called the Beast of New York for nothing.
Their eyes met across the violence, his brothers' gazes fierce with meaning. It was their turn to prove to Giancarlo that they were no longer defenseless and reliant on him for protection. Their chance to let their eldest brother know that it did not matter if Giancarlo had briefly lost his way.
God is on our side, fratello.
That is our strength.
So come back and lead us again.
Strength like he had never known blazed through him, and Giancarlo was able to overthrow the men holding him back with a roar. He turned around, intending to help his brothers—-
Sarica.
HER LUNGS WERE ON FIRE, but not once did she even think to stop running. The devil taunted her with images of Giancarlo dying because of her, but Sarica shoved away every silly thought as soon as it attempted to take root.
Get. Behind. Me. Satan.
A familiar sight in a darkened alley caught her eye, and Sarica skidded to a halt.