Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I expect her to take off in a rush, something about her giving away how truly different she is than me. She might be gorgeous and built the way a woman should be, similar in my age or not, but she’s weak in ways I’m not, and that was clear in the expression she gave me, one that told me she has just realized maybe she made a mistake coming to my room.
I could kill her if I wanted and there’s nothing she could do to stop it.
“When?” she asks quietly, her eyes quickly darting around the halls outside my door and I’m not sure if she’s looking for help or making sure she hasn’t been caught in here. “When what?”
“When did you end your marriage?”
A look of sorrow, dare I say sympathy, crosses her expression, and she offers me a small smile. I know what she’s going to say before she says it.
“The day he met you.”
Chapter
Eight
Enzo
The second the buzzing stops, I fly from my chair leaving Savo, one of my guards, to sort out payment and escort the man from the grounds. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open up the security feed, tossing the fucking thing against the wall and storming down the hall when still, the app refuses to connect.
I knew I should have brought the iPad down with me.
Glancing at my watch, I find it’s nearly eight in the morning. Boston should be climbing from the shower right about now.
I bet my little bride is angry this morning. She hates to be told what to do, so I made sure to do exactly that after the shit she pulled last night, sitting there like a little doll with lips curved into the perfect, plastic smile that’s glued shut by design.
If I have to take a blade and cut those lips apart to get her to use them, I will.
That might have been how Boston Revenaw was required to be, but like I told her. Boston Revenaw no longer exists.
She’s Boston Fikile now.
My bride.
My wife.
And let us not forget, my ticket into all the districts, a result of our marriage as she seems determined to focus on.
With my name tied to hers, and Bastian Bishop taking over as the new head of the Revenaw empire, my future is looking better than it was. A lot cleaner too.
Before Boston, I thought I’d have to mop the floor red with her dear old daddy—the old-timer refused to see the new way was the only fucking way. Thankfully, the man who took his place came from where I did—the dark corner of the world and not the typical one the men of the mafia are born into. The ones buried in the dirt and shit on over and over again until they find a way to do the shitting. In my case, it was the purchase of a two-dollar aluminum bat at a yard sale.
Only took a couple swings and the harsh crush of a skull to get my ass out, and from that day, I’ve yet to stop swinging. I’ve just traded out one aluminum weapon for another.
A single-wide for a secluded mansion.
A bachelor life for a bad bride.
To the outside world, I’m a business owner. A young gun who struck luck in the stock market and bought his way to the top. Technically, they’re not wrong. That did happen.
It happened in the sense I was hired to drive a semi across the border with twenty-one kilos strapped to the undercarriage in exchange for a significant amount of cash. I took that cash and threw it all into stocks, doubling and then tripling my investment. And then I did it again and again until I had what I needed to get my legal security company off the ground, so I had a cover for the illegal underground one. It just so happens both endeavors proved lucrative, growing my wealth pretty much overnight.
Mino, my second and closest friend, steps up, passing me my weapon, freshly cleaned and fully loaded. I shove it into the holster near my right hip, and accept my jacket next, sliding it on and buttoning the first two buttons.
“How long until the fucking app is fixed?”
“Should be up by lunch, boss, but all feeds look good on the main server. Try not to break the screen on this thing before then.” He passes me my phone next and I slip it in the chest pocket sewn on the inseam. My money clip is the last thing he hands me, but I don’t put it away just yet, instead, running my thumb over the golden seal stamped into the front as it hangs at my side.
A gift to myself, purchased the moment I left my future wife on that island she called me to.
Stepping around the corner, we meet another one of my men and he bows his head as he opens the door to the hall leading to the south wing of the mansion—my work wing.