Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“You’re right,” I say firmly, thinking of all the parties, all the time he forced Nick to kiss his ring. “He is pathetic.”
Uncle Nick stares grimly. “We can agree on that.”
We all eat quietly for a while.
I sneak glances at Nick, watching the way he looks at Damien. It’s a confused expression like he partly respects him but like he can’t get over the fact he’s the Bratva boss. The man who was in charge of the opposing side when we lost the war, when I was tattooed and Dad died.
Will he ever be able to get over it?
But it’s true, what I said to Damien last night. If we were going to tell Uncle Nick, I’m not sure what we’d even say.
“Will it be dangerous?” I ask, hoping Nick can’t sense the want in my voice. “Today, I mean?”
Damien glances at me, his features tight, his jaw jutting out of his hard face.
He looks ready to kill, kiss, fall between my legs, and claim me with his mouth.
Stop.
“It might be,” Damien says, his voice steady. “I’m not sure how far they want to push this. The low-level dealers on the street, the subtle pushing, that’s one thing. Insulting my…insulting you, Liliana, that’s another.”
His voice tremors. I feel Uncle Nick watching us, his eyes bouncing between us.
His cut lip twitches.
A gut punch. He knows. He just saw something.
“But assaulting your uncle is a clear sign. I have to end this violence before it escalates. If that requires violence from me, then fine, I’ll be violent. I’ll be whatever I have to be to keep this goddamn city and my family safe.”
His family?
Is he talking about his Dad on the West Coast?
Or does he mean the Bratva?
But that’s not how they refer to it, the family. I’ve never heard a Bratva person say that, not at any of the Bratva-Cartel parties I’ve been forced to attend. I don’t understand who he means, and a cruel whisper tells me he means us.
Me and him. For life.
Suddenly he stands, the abrupt movement making me jump in my seat. He looks down at me, features tight, then at Nick.
“I have to go.”
He leaves, striding from the room.
Uncle Nick stares at the empty door, at the place my man just was.
I'm sure the dining room is spinning around and around as my uncle moves his gaze from the door to me.
His eyes are narrowed, perceptive. He’s looking at me like he did in high school on the rare occasions I’d sneak out or break a rule. He doesn’t miss anything, not with me.
“When, Liliana?” he says, his voice low.
“When…what?”
Uncle Nick sighs, taking a sip of his coffee. I wonder what he’s doing until he looks out the window, watching as Damien and Max walk toward the chauffeured car, the guards walking up and down the grounds.
The moment they start driving away, he places his mug on the table.
“When did it start? You and Damien?”
I freeze in the chair, my whole body going rigid. The tips of my fingers feel like they’ve got little heartbeats, which is the weirdest thing ever. But that’s how it feels as Uncle Nick looks at me steadily.
“Since the party,” I say softly.
Nick leans back. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I swear, since the party. When he stood up for me, it started then.”
Uncle Nick interlaces his fingers, resting his chin on them, studying me. “You don’t sound like you’re lying.”
“Because I’m not,” I say, forcing myself to meet his eye. “It’s all been a whirlwind. The party, and then we kissed, and…and it’s been crazy, Uncle Nick. And really great. And amazing. And like a fairytale.”
I’ve gone too far, let too much silly hope slip into my voice. He’s going to hear how lost I am already, without knowing if Damien could ever feel the same.
“You don’t know him,” Uncle Nick says.
“I do,” I retort. “Maybe I haven’t known him for a long time, okay, I get that. But I know him. We’ve talked. We’re close, sort of, in a way. It’s complicated. But it’s real. It’s exciting. It is.” I’m talking way too fast, with a note of desperation in my voice that even I can hear. It’s like I’m trying to convince myself, not Uncle Nick, pleading for this to be real.
For the feelings, his feelings to be true. The same as mine.
“Maybe you’ve had a few conversations, but that doesn’t mean you know him, Liliana. Why is he doing this?”
I lean back like I’ve been slapped.
“I didn’t mean that,” Nick raises his hands. “You’re a pretty girl, Liliana. Of course, you are. But tell me now…why do you think he’s showing this sudden interest?”
“It’s not like that,” I say. “He’s not using me for anything. We’ve talked. He doesn’t just want sex.”
Uncle Nick averts his gaze, his lip curling. But then he leans back, sighing. “I remember when you had that little model kitchen with the plastic pots and pans. Do you remember?”