Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Then Niall’s leaning across the table and shouting at Ronan, then his eyes slide over to me.
They widen slightly as he takes me in, from my feet to my hips to my chest, and finally ending on my mouth.
Motherfucker smiles.
A warmth fills my chest. Okay, I don’t actually mind the way he’s staring at me like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen in his life. I’m wearing a tight dress, not too short, but short enough to show off my legs. The neckline is high, and the quarter sleeves are modest, but it hugs my hips enough that it firmly hints at what’s underneath. I wasn’t really trying to look good or anything when I put it on, just figured it was nice enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen out of the house in it, and now I’m happy this is what I chose.
Because Ronan likes it.
He shoves his way out of the booth. The guys grumble and I catch a few serious stares, but Ronan seems oblivious. “Valentina, my darling, what in the fuck are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a fight going on,” I say, glancing back at the boxers. Another two big guys repeatedly punch each other in the face. How riveting. “I wanted to check it out.”
“Sit with me.” He gestures at some of his men, and they clear off to another nearby table. Ronan slides in and pats the spot next to him. “Need a drink?”
“Got one already.” I sip it and slide in beside him. “This is what you do with your time on the weekends, huh?”
“Could be worse. I might be trapped in my tiny little apartment with nothing to do and nowhere to go.” His eyes are smiling as he smirks at me.
I squirm slightly. “I’m not so sure I agree now that I’m stuck with you.”
He laughs and sits very close. “Come on, love, lighten up. Want to put some money on one of the fighters? Brendan’s one of mine, he’s in the blue shorts.”
“You mean, the guy getting pummeled?”
Ronan scowls. “Currently, yes.”
“I think I’ll take his opponent.”
He barks a laugh. “You love being confrontational, don’t you?”
I lean on an elbow and study him, trying not to smile. He’s probably right, I’m being a little aggressive for no reason, but I can’t help myself. Something about this guy always pisses me off.
“When it comes to you? There’s nothing better.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing better.” He leans in close, and the way he emphasizes the second part sends a shiver down my spine. Then he’s gesturing at one of the bookies, who rushes over to take a few hundred dollars on Brendan’s opponent. “For the lady,” he explains, winking at me.
I roll my eyes, but hey, if the bet wins and I get some more money in my pocket, I’m not complaining.
As we drink and watch the fight, Ronan introduces me to more of his entourage. There’s Declan and Eamon, Finn and Cormac, Kieran and Aidan, and I’m not sure how they’re all related or if they’re related at all, but Ronan keeps calling them cousins, so I figure they’re in his organization at the very least. The way they jostle and tease each other reminds me of the old days, and a strange ache builds in my chest watching them.
I miss this. I really miss it. I don’t like to think of myself as a spoiled mafia princess, but I was definitely in love with being a member of the Famiglia, and I especially liked being my father’s daughter.
Dad went out of his way to make sure I was included, and the rest of the Famiglia members followed his lead. I wasn’t exactly doted on, but I was treated like their own daughter, with respect and friendliness.
I had a place. I belonged somewhere.
Just like Ronan belongs here. He jokes and laughs, and his boys seem to genuinely like him, or at least most of them. I catch others lingering nearby, not smiling, not acting like Ronan’s the center of the world. From years of mafia life, I can almost smell the divisions in his little Hayes Group, but that’s none of my business.
In the ring, Brendan ducks a few punches, weaves around a few more, takes a right hook to the jaw before coming back with a vicious left jab. He forces his opponent back, staggers him, then slams a right hook directly into his chin. The man goes down and doesn’t get back up, and Brendan’s announced as the winner.
Ronan pats my hands. “Shame for you, love, real shame for you.” The bookie returns and hands over a stack of money which Ronan passes around to some of his men.
“I thought you bet on Brendan’s opponent?” I say with mock outrage.
“After I put even more on Brendan himself. Told you, love, he’s one of mine, and mine don’t lose.”