Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
"Cristo," Gabe mutters. "It's a hell of a way to secure his place."
He's not wrong. It's ruthless and brutal, little more than a hostile takeover. To secure his place, Emilio Genovese ties himself to the family that murdered his father and nearly destroyed his family. But his family survives. They rebuild. And they do it with Valentino money. It's better than the figlio di puttana deserves.
More importantly, it sends a message to anyone else who thinks to try what Tommaso did. Push us, and you'll know what it is to feel the weight of our boots on your neck. It's not a message we intend to have to send more than once. It has to be brutal. It's the only way the lesson sticks.
"Fine," Gabe sighs, giving in to the inevitable. "Do what you have to do."
Chapter Five
Callandria
By the time I cry myself out, my head throbs faintly. I curl up on the bed and sleep for a while, only to dream of war. The streets run red with blood, and I walk across a pile of bones on my way…somewhere. I don't know where I'm going or who I'm looking for, but I can't find them.
And then I see him.
Luca.
He's laid out in the middle of the street outside my father's house, lifeless and still. Covered in blood. A gun rests beside his hand. The other is outstretched as if reaching for me.
No, Luca. No.
I gasp and rush forward, racing as fast as I can to reach him. Someone grabs me before I can, holding me back.
I scream…and sit bolt upright in the bed, gasping for breath. Shadows overtake the room, darkening the corners. A pile of shopping bags sit just inside the bedroom door. I've been sleeping for hours.
"Merda," I whisper, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes as if that will erase the awful images hovering behind them. It doesn't. I still see him, his face pale. His chest not moving. My own aches in protest, my stomach clenching.
It was just a dream. And yet…it wasn't. It's one possible outcome of whatever decision I make.
Two roads diverged in a mansion….
I drag myself from the bed and stumble to the bathroom to take care of business and splash water on my face. Once that's done, I try the bedroom door. To my surprise, it's unlocked. I poke my head out.
"Miss Genovese."
I jump a foot into the air, whipping my head around to face the giant standing in the shadows across the hall. He blends with the dark wood of the wall, his black suit making him almost invisible. Has he been there all day?
Who am I kidding? Of course he has.
Luca wouldn't leave me here alone, especially after I tried to stab him with a fork this morning.
"Who are you?" I ask, eyeing the giant warily. He's been eating his Wheaties because he's massive. His expression is carved from granite, his eyes dark.
"Alessio Cascieri. Luca asked me to protect you."
"Protect me or babysit me?"
"Protect."
"Then I'd like to go home, please."
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "And babysit."
I nod, satisfied with his answer. At least he's honest about his priorities. "And where is Luca?"
"Out."
I know enough to know that's the only explanation I'll be getting from this man. Their vows are inviolable. Even if I tortured him, he wouldn't tell me anything. Luckily for him, I'm not in a torturing people kind of mood. "Can you take me to the kitchen, please? I'd like to find something to eat."
He jerks his head in a nod and steps away from the wall.
"Um, one moment, please." I quickly slip back into the bedroom and close the door, kneeling to rummage through the bags. They're full of clothes. I don't even want to know how Luca knew my size, but nearly everything will fit me except the shirts. They're all too small. It had to have cost him a fortune. I pick out a pair of lacy panties and buttery soft yoga pants and slip them on before grabbing a bra. I strip out of Luca's shirt, put the bra on, and then pull his t-shirt back on over my head, tying it up around my waist again.
"I'm ready," I tell Alessio less than a minute later, stepping back out of the bedroom.
He leads me down the hallway. Unlike my father's house, Luca's isn't built like a museum to wealth. It's timeless and beautiful. Dark wood panels line the walls, with ornately carved banisters and balustrades. Instead of a chandelier, a crystal dome over the staircase floods the foyer with natural light.
We pass through the living room, decorated more for comfort than to impress. A large fireplace and sectional dominate the room, with bookcases lining one wall. Massive doors lead out to a patio and a rolling green lawn.