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)
"Kitchen," Alessio says, standing to the side to let me pass.
I step inside and then stop to stare. The entire kitchen is made from stone, with a cobblestone floor and gorgeous dark wood cabinets. Appliances rest in arched alcoves. Windows look out over the lawn. It's breathtaking, like stepping straight into Tuscany.
"Wow," I whisper. No wonder Ricardo likes to cook breakfast here.
"You like it?" Luca says from behind me.
I spin around to face him, startled by the sound of his voice. He's standing just inside the doorway, watching me intently. He looks exhausted. And alive. The knots in my stomach loosen, the lingering effects of the nightmare falling away. He's not dead in the streets because I made the wrong decision. He's right here. Alive.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking about him or the kitchen.
"Are you hungry, bella?"
"Yes."
He steps into the kitchen, close enough I can smell his cologne again. Or maybe it's just him. His scent. I don't know, but my core clenches, heat sweeping through me in a rush. "Would you like me to make you something?"
"You cook?"
"Occasionally."
"Is it edible?"
He smirks at me, holding out a hand. "Come and see, principessa."
I stare at his hand for a protracted moment, and then take a breath and place my hand in his. His fingers close around mine, his grip…comforting. He looks at our interlaced fingers for a second and then pulls me deeper into the kitchen.
"You were gone all day," I say as he pulls out a stool at the island for me.
"I had things to attend to."
"What kind of things?" I pry, allowing him to help me up onto the stool. My feet don't touch the ground. I'm not even that short. I'm five-seven. Next to him, I feel small. I should feel unsafe. I should feel endangered. But I don't. I just feel…delicate.
"Things you don't need to know about, bella. You don't belong in this world. It's dark and ugly and full of fucked-up, filthy shit that should never touch you," he says near my ear before striding toward the fridge.
I watch him as he searches through it, pulling items out to inspect them. Some make it to a pile on the counter. Others quickly get put back. He works efficiently, completely at ease in the kitchen.
"I was born into this world," I say quietly. "Whether I belong in it or not, I'll never escape it. My family's name will follow me no matter what. If I'm lucky, I'll survive. If I'm not, those dark, ugly, filthy things will touch me. They'll drown me like they do so many of you. That's how it goes, Luca. I'm not free. I'll never be safe. I didn't have to take the vow to be bound by it. When you're female, it hangs over your head without you speaking a word. That's what it means to be a principessa, Luca. That's the weight that sits on my chest."
It's the same one that crushes the air from my lungs and screams at me to flee even though there's nowhere to run. The arm of the law is long. The arm of La Cosa Nostra is longer. Even if I fled, my family would find me. They'd drag me back to fulfill the promise they made before I was even out of diapers. Their honor demands it. Omertà demands it. Their own greed demands it. I've always been a pawn, moved around a board before I even knew I was a part of the game.
There's nothing this man could tell me that would surprise me, but I need him to tell me anyway. As much as he can, anyway. It's the only way I'll ever be able to trust him. Because I'm done being a pawn. If we're going to forge an alliance to stop a war, I have to be able to trust him.
And right now, I don't. I'm not even sure I trust myself. How can I when my own body betrays me, and my mind lays traps for me even in my sleep?
"Cazzo," he growls, turning to face me. His mocha eyes blaze with unholy fire as he paces toward me. "You will be safe, Callandria. I'll rip this city to the fucking ground myself before I let anything happen to you."
My heart thuds against my breastbone in a powerful jolt. He means it. Dio. This man really would set this city on fire and watch it burn for me. Why? Why does he care what happens to a Genovese? Just when I think I understand him a little bit, I realize I understand nothing at all.
He circles around the island to me, dragging my chair around to face him. The metal feet screech across the cobblestone floor, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"No one touches you. No one harms you," he snarls, wrapping his hand around my throat to tip my head back. "I'll kill anyone who tries."