Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I-I don’t know t-the m-man g-g-giving orders,” he splutters, more blood drips from his lips as he coughs up the Merlot-colored fluid. Instead of being delectable and delicious, its flavor comes from the eye-watering stench of metal.
I pull the blade from his shoulder only to lower it, sinking in the one place a man will always try to protect. The organ that makes stupid men do filthy things. “Who the fuck are you working for?”
Another agonizing cry of mercy from Olivetti, but I only smile when his watery gaze locks on mine. Guilt flickers in his dark stare, but I know it’s all an act. He doesn’t feel it. Not truly. Men who are ravaged by guilt don’t do what he did. The photo on Frederico’s phone was all the proof I needed to finish this job with a smile on my face.
“T-Tommaso Cavallone,” he suddenly spews.
His confession has me straightening quickly. I’m in front of my victim within seconds, the gasps from the men who are witnessing the show ring in my ears alongside the name of the Underboss to the Cavallone clan. The same Familia of the woman I’m about to marry.
Confusion settles in my mind, and with a quick glance at Mario, I offer him a nod. He knows what it means—find Valentino. Something isn’t right. But right now, I turn my focus on the bastard before me.
I don’t second guess myself. I end his life with a flick of my wrist, embedding my blade into his chest, right through his blackened heart. But even as I judge this bastard, I know the thing that keeps me alive, that muscle beating in my chest, is no lighter than his.
The only difference between us is I have limits.
But when it comes to killing monsters, those boundaries disappear.
Chapter 8
Luna
The door slides open as the sun rises behind the house. The city is almost glinting with promises as I turn to find a woman who looks far too motherly to be working for a monster like Enzo de Rossi. I expected his staff to all be beautiful, statuesque, model-like creatures in small maid uniforms.
But I’m being judgmental.
“Bella regazza,” she murmurs as she sets down a tray with a smile on her face. “Welcome to your new home.” Her expression is kind, and I find myself lowering my defenses.
“Grazie.” I return her kindness with a small curtsy, only for her to blanche at the action.
“No, you’re principessa,” she informs me. “You do not do that.” She wags her finger, admonishing me. I should never have done something that stupid. I understand the way things work in a home like this, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a friendly face.
“I’m sorry, my mistake,” I whisper, making my way toward her with my hands held out. “It’s okay.” Even as I try to assure her, she seems worried, her brows furrowing as she regards my extended hand. And for a long moment, I pray she doesn’t tell Enzo what I’ve done.
Even if he doesn’t accept me as his partner, his queen in this Familia, I have to act like one. It may not be new to me, I’ve been taught from a young age what’s expected of me, but there are times I wish I was normal.
“You will eat, then come to dance,” she informs me quickly, before leaving me in the room staring at the door she’s just shut. It seems my fiancé has made sure my schooling doesn’t come to a halt while living in this skyscraper palace he calls home.
I’m excited to dance again.
It’s been a couple of days, which is the longest I’ve gone without at least practicing. I tried last night, but it’s just not the same without my bar. I miss it. My body needs it. As if I’m addicted to the rush of bending and pirouetting and twirling while trying to keep my focus.
Since I first put on my ballet flats at six-years-old, I knew it was something I would always love. The music thrilled me from head to toe, transporting me to another time and place. And each year I grew older, taller, I prayed I could always dance.
And now, at eighteen, I’m thankful my constant practicing has kept me limber and I’m still able to do the one thing I love—ballet. It’s the only constant that will keep me sane in my new life. And as I drink down my tea, and race to the en suite, I smile because I’m getting ready for a day of hard training.
I’m certain uncle Tommaso would have informed Enzo that I only work with one trainer. He’s been with me since I was sixteen and performed in my first production of Swan Lake. And I don’t know what I would do without him.
Once I’m dressed in my white tights, net skirt, and leotard that hugs my slender frame like a glove, I sigh happily. All dressed, I head out of the room to find the hallway empty. I did a little exploring, but now that I can get out of my bedroom, I venture toward the living room where I find Mario settled at the dining room table which is visible from the open plan space.