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)
She was humming when I entered, something soft and sweet that made her seem different this morning. Lighter somehow. Like a weight had lifted from those delicate shoulders that carried too much already.
I caught her smiling to herself as she traced the spine of a book, and something twisted in my gut. I'd seen Giuliano leaving her wing late last night, looking less composed than usual. Made me wonder what kind of game he was playing with her.
"Brought you something," I said, keeping my voice gentle.
Her eyes lit up when she saw what I held, making my breath catch. "Are those...?"
"Your father." I settled into the chair across from her, careful to maintain distance. "Thought you might want to see how he was, before everything changed."
She reached for them with trembling hands. "I have so few pictures... Vittorio—" She stopped, pain flickering across her face.
"Destroyed them?" At her nod, something dark curled in my gut. "Yeah, that sounds like him. Always trying to erase the past."
She traced Marco's face in the oldest photo. "He looks so young here." She shuffled through more, then stopped at one that made her smile.
There in the yellowed photo, Marco stood in Giovanni's restaurant, caught mid-laugh under the warm lights. Pearl's mother beside him, her face bright with pride.
"This one..." Pearl's finger traced the scene. "Mom's surprise party for Dad at Giovanni's. He knew about it the whole time but pretended to be shocked when everyone jumped out." Her smile softened. "He hated big parties, but he made such a fuss about being surprised... just to make her happy."
Another photo slipped free from the stack—this one sun-bleached but still sharp. Marco on the deck of his yacht, documents scattered around him, with a little girl curled against his side, both grinning in the Mediterranean sun.
"Naples," I said, my finger tracing the edge. "Remember that trip? You begged to come along after hearing about the coast..."
She smiled at the memory. "I didn't even know what a business trip was. Just heard him say 'boats' and I wouldn't shut up about it for days."
"And he gave in."
"And Dad kept pushing back meetings." She laughed softly. "Said his 'junior partner' needed to approve all the locations first."
"He used to talk about you constantly," I said quietly. "Every achievement, every milestone. His office was full of your photos." I watched her face soften at the memory. "Even during the most serious meetings, he'd find a way to slip in something about his brilliant daughter."
She smiled then, warm and genuine—the kind that made me forget every reason I shouldn't be here.
"All those lessons he got you," I said, remembering. "Music, dance..."
"I was terrible at piano," she said, laughing as she traced another photo.
"He didn't care. Said you could've been banging on pots and pans and he'd still be in the front row." I hesitated, then added, "He wanted more for you than this life. More than being caught between powerful men and their games."
Her fingers stilled on the photos. "Is that what you think this is? Just games?"
Before I could stop myself, I reached out to catch the tear on her cheek. She leaned into my touch slightly, and Christ, that tiny movement nearly broke me.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you deserve better than being anyone's pawn. Even Giuliano's."
She pulled back slightly, a flash of something defensive crossing her face. "You don't know everything about..."
"No," I cut in, softer now. "I don't. But I know men like us, Pearl. Men who take what they want and call it protection."
Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water. Marco's face smiled up from the photos between us, reminding me of every line I shouldn't cross. I stood abruptly, needing distance.
"Keep them," I managed, already heading for the door. "They belong to you anyway."
Her quiet "thank you" followed me out, along with the memory of how perfectly she'd fit against me in that brief moment. I forced myself not to look back, knowing if I did, my carefully constructed walls would crumble completely.
Marco would have killed me for even thinking about her this way. But then again, Marco was dead. And his daughter... fuck, his sweet, untouched daughter was making me hard with thoughts that would damn me straight to hell.
Time to hit the gym. Maybe if I punched something hard enough, I could forget how she felt under my hands. Forget how much I wanted to find out what other sounds I could draw from those perfect lips.
God help us all.
12
VINCENZO
Midnight at the compound always made me reflective. Three years since Giuliano had found me, fresh out of Vittorio's organization, carrying enough dirt to bring down half the East Coast. Instead of turning me in, he'd offered a choice: help build something better, or disappear with enough money. Simple as that.