Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Swallowing deeply, I round my desk and close the distance between us. “Listen to me, Raina. You can always pull out. I still need a PA, but the other side of the contract isn’t something you have to do if you feel you can’t handle it. I hired you to help you get out of your family obligations, to help you. The sex”—I lean in and revel in the hitch of her breathing—“is just a perk.”
“Brother, are you ready?” Gio’s voice drags me from my intoxication with this beauty before me and I nod. It’s time to do some business. To get that fucker out of my life. Russo has caused too much trouble. Granted, we’ve not had the best history, but it’s time he learns who runs the West Coast.
“I am. Till later, bella.” Turning, I head toward the door and find Giovanni’s gaze flitting between me and the blonde who’s captured my attention. My brothers aren’t stupid. They can read through all my bullshit. And this is no different. Pushing emotions down is my forte. However, this sweet, innocent little girl is about to unravel everything. Something deep in my gut warns me. But who was I ever to listen to a warning.
“Ciao, bella.” He salutes with one hand and I shut the door behind us. “I can see why you’re growing attached to her, Franco.” He smirks at me and I’m tempted to shut him up with a punch to the gut, but I pin him with a glare instead. “Don’t let them see you like this. Pull your shit together or we’re all going down.” His tone has a warning dripping from it and I unbutton my suit jacket.
“Don’t tell me how to run my life, Gio. I’ve done this a million times. As I said to Matteo this morning, she’s a pet. Someone I can fuck my frustration out on. Nothing more.” With that, he drops the subject and hands me the contract for Russo.
It’s been a long time coming. When my father was murdered by the same men he trusted, I vowed revenge. He doesn’t realize I know he killed the older Moretti, and I intend to keep it that way until I’ve got him right where I want him. At the firing end of my gun. Then I’ll watch as his brain is splattered along the wall. Crimson, such a pretty color.
Slipping into the back seat of the car, I find Matteo tapping away at his laptop. The IT guru of the three boys, my father always said he’d be the one to hack into any company one day and steal millions. And he has, pretty much.
We make our money from the drugs and weapons, but my brother, he likes to take from the rich and give to the poor. A modern-day Robin Hood. And the women seem to flutter to him like bees to honey, but somehow, when he’s in a relationship, he’s committed. He’s always been a one-woman man. Like me.
Casting a glance at Gio, I take in my little brother. Born only a few minutes after Matteo, he is the baby. The manwhore as he likes to refer to himself. He’s never without his Glock, a woman draped on his arm, and a cigarette hanging from his lips. When our father was killed, he took it the hardest. Went into a depression where we had to drag him from a drunken, drug-filled stupor and force him to get help.
We’re all trained, and trained well. Matteo is lethal with his blades. Gio is glued to his gun. And me, I like using my hands. To feel the air slowly drain from someone’s body. I know a few hundred ways to kill a man with a flick of my wrist. But I also have my pistol that used to be my father’s, which has the family crest emblazoned on it.
The three of us are feared in circles all over the world. The Moretti name is infamous for making sure assholes are taken care of. The rest of us, those who worked for my father, they’re as deadly as they are good-looking. Which works in our favor when we’re wanting to get close to a mark.
In total, there are fifty men who are part of our family, our cosca as we like to call it, some I’ve known my whole life. And today, they’ll go through a test of loyalty. To me, to my father, and to the Moretti name.
“We’re almost here, sir,” Lorenzo, my driver, informs us. Dragging my gaze toward the window, I take in the cars already parked and waiting. They’re hidden from view, but I know they’re there. If shit goes down, my men have my back. The gun wedged in the holster on my shoulder is evidence that this isn’t a game. I’m ready to take men down, silent and deadly.