Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Business was busy, as always. The Liberto Mafia and the Drozdov Bratva were making things as difficult as possible, and the Ramos Cartel was threatening an all-out war if Giatno couldn’t make things right.
Negotiations were still on-going. And meanwhile, the MacKenna Family spread their influence through Atlanta, taking over drug corners that had been run by smaller local gangs for generations.
My plans were like water in my palms and could easily slip through my fingers at any moment.
Yet all I thought about was her. Cassie every morning when I woke and Cassie again at night when I closed my eyes, and all the hours in between. I thought of her lips, her voice, her angry smile, her aggressive conversation.
So few women in my life ever challenged me.
And none lingered like she did.
It was disorienting.
I spent so much time controlling everything around me—making sure circumstances were perfect, ensuring that my time was spent on the optimal actions, building my empire into a sprawling continent-spanning machine, and yet this girl, this stranger, she woke something up that I didn’t know was slumbering.
Something I thought was dead.
Desire, pure and hot. My humanity. My need for connection.
I thought I lost that a long time ago on the ice.
Beneath my father’s hand, under his tutelage.
In the freezing water, my lips bright blue.
My old brother’s gasps, his chokes.
But my heart beat again and I didn’t know what to do about it.
I tried ignoring her, tied to throw myself into my plans and my work, but even Erick noticed that something was going on.
Roza said I should go back to her. I told Roza to mind her own business.
Which she didn’t, of course.
Eventually, I didn’t know what else to do. Days passed, and weeks, and still all I could do was torture myself thinking about Cassie, worrying about her safety.
When I got the call about Giatno’s hitman heading out to Sea Isle to take Cassie out of the picture for good, I couldn’t keep myself away.
And now, with her in my car, I felt like an animal, caged and desperate to break out.
Still all I could do was breathe in and out with her and watch that mouth, lips slightly parted, that cute gap in her teeth, that tiny pink tongue pressed against her palate.
I wanted that mouth against mine. Wanted to taste her skin and sink my fingers between her slick, warm legs.
Wanted to make her moan and writhe along my cock.
But all I did was breathe in, breathe out, until we reached my mansion.
The most secure place in the world.
8
Cassie
The drive was torture.
Worse than anything I’d gone through before.
I was so exhausted from the chase, but my adrenaline pumped hard and kept me in a perpetual state of panic. I’d start to calm down, get close to drifting off—then another spike sent me spiraling.
Any bump, any sudden braking.
I kept wondering why Roman put up with it. I was nothing to him, just some girl that witnessed a murder. I was inconvenient more than anything else.
And yet he sat with me for over two hours, holding my hand, touching my leg, and breathing with me, in and out. He whispered softly, trying to be as reassuring and calming as he could, and it worked.
At least, it worked more than anything else ever had before.
It still felt like I was drowning, but Roman was there to keep me afloat.
Two hours in a car was a nightmare. It was the worst thing I could imagine for myself.
Roman made it bearable.
I’d never been to Jersey City before and didn’t know much about it. The houses were old and built in a typical Jersey beach-style even though we were right across from Manhattan. I found it strange that Roman didn’t live directly in the city, but couldn’t think straight enough to ask him why not.
We rolled through quiet residential streets at four in the morning and eventually dropped outside of a black wrought-iron gate. A man sat in a guard booth just inside and manually pulled the fencing back. He saluted as we drove past—and had a rifle slung over his shoulder.
The driveway reminded me of the Avalon beach house, but so much more. The grass was perfectly manicured, bushes and trees trimmed into idealized and controlled shapes. The house came into view at the top of a short rise and I sucked in a shocked breath.
It was low and sleek. Long, sloped roofs. Mid-century style, like it as built in the fifties—but everything was new, shining and pristine. Exposed wood, natural brick, lots of grain and character.
As soon as the car stopped I climbed out and threw up.
I expected Roman to leave me there. Instead, I felt him rub my back.
“God I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth. Heat pressed into my cheeks. As if having a panic attack for two hours wasn’t bad enough, now I had to get sick in front of him.