Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
A knock interrupted my thoughts. "Breakfast," Angelo called, followed by the electronic lock's click that reminded me exactly where I was—and why.
He entered first, carrying a tray that showcased his muscled forearms, while Rocco followed with shopping bags. The deep, earthy scent of freshly ground beans filled the room. I thought of Vittorio's big 'on the whole, proper Italians only drink espresso' thing. I pushed away the memory of his voice: "You think you're so untouchable. But you'll see. Everyone bends, Pearl. It's just a matter of time."
"Here. Hope you like pancakes," Angelo said, setting down the tray. "Wasn't sure what you usually eat."
"Well, Vittorio thinks ladies should stick to green juice and sugar-free yogurt," I said, drawn to the smell of actual food.
"That's not breakfast, that's torture." Rocco dropped the bags, pushing his long blond hair back. That's when I noticed the scar near his temple—definitely not from falling.
"How'd you get that?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Training accident." His hand went to it automatically, something flickering in his green eyes. "Angelo here got a lucky shot in."
"Lucky?" Angelo's quiet voice held a hint of amusement. "You telegraphed that punch from a mile away."
"I was seventeen," Rocco protested, but there was something fond in his exasperation. "And you cheated."
"You can't cheat at sparring," Angelo said, arranging things on my desk. Then to me: "Our father trained us since we were kids. Said a man should know how to protect what matters."
The casual mention of their father made something shift in the air. Rocco's jaw tightened while Angelo's eyes went distant. I watched pain flash across their faces before they masked it.
"Got you some other things," Rocco continued gruffly, gesturing to the bags. "You know, girl stuff." He looked at the bags like they might jump up and bite him any second.
I peeked inside, touched to find everything I'd talked about yesterday—specific shampoo brands, hair ties, even the face cream I'd described in passing. The thoughtfulness made me smile.
The door clicked open again without warning. Giuliano stood in the threshold, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—me still in my sleep clothes, the twins hovering close, breakfast laid out like some casual morning gathering. Something dark flickered across his face.
"Don't let me interrupt," he said, voice carrying an edge that made both twins straighten imperceptibly.
"We were just leaving," Angelo said quickly, already moving toward the door. Rocco followed, but not before I caught the knowing look he shot his brother.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft click of the door. Giuliano didn't move from the threshold, but his presence seemed to fill the entire space. I fought the urge to fidget under his sharp gaze.
"Settling in, I see," he finally said, eyes falling on the journal he'd given me. Something in his voice made me wonder if he'd watched me writing in it late last night.
"The books help." I gestured to the growing collection on my nightstand, trying to ignore how my skin tingled under his stare. "Though I have questions about this place."
"Do you?" He moved closer, and I caught that expensive cologne that made my head spin. "Like what?"
I hesitated, then decided to risk it. "How big is this place? Do you live here alone?"
His lips curved slightly at my obvious fishing. "The compound spans several acres to the shore. And no," his voice took on an edge, "my father still maintains the west wing. He's the Barbieri family head, though he never seems to trust my judgment."
Something in his tone made me want to know more. "And the others? The men who..." I gestured vaguely at myself, not wanting to say 'kidnapped me.'
"They have their own places in the city." He settled into the chair across from me, every movement controlled yet somehow predatory. "But there are plenty of rooms here for when business requires their presence. Like now."
The way he looked at me when he said 'business' sent heat flooding through my body.
"It must be nice," I said carefully, "having so much space. Vittorio kept everything... contained."
I found myself leaning forward slightly. "Why am I really here, Giuliano? What do you want from Vittorio?"
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Your stepfather has taken things that don't belong to him. Territory. Operations." He paused, studying me with an intensity that made my breath catch. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"I suspected." I wrapped my arms around myself, remembering the snippets of conversations I'd overheard in Vittorio's tower. "The port operations especially. He claimed they were always his, but..."
"But they weren't." His voice hardened.
"And now you want them back?" I asked carefully.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Smart girl. Though perhaps you don't need to concern yourself with all the details."
"I am the detail, aren't I?" I met his gaze steadily. "Your leverage against him."