Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
But from where I’m standing, she’s luckier than anyone in the world.
She has a mother and a father that love her. She has a job that provides value to the world. She has independence, and a life, and she doesn’t have to be terrified that everything will be ripped away from her by violent men every time she wakes up in the morning.
She’s free in a way I’m beginning to think I never will be.
While I woke up in a mansion this morning, she woke up in heaven.
The day passes like that. The Greek guys come and go, but there’s always at least half a dozen of them. Demetrios keeps asking me if he can get me anything like I’m a customer or something, and I keep assuring him that I’m fine. I can tell he’s beginning to look at me differently—like I’m already the wife of his Greek crime lord.
It’s exactly what I don’t want to happen.
“He’ll get over it eventually,” Phel says after the tenth time her dad tries to get me water or offers me something to eat. “Eventually. Probably.”
I roll my eyes and we share a laugh.
But around five that day, as the dinner rush gets started, Evander shows up with his friend in tow, a man I’ve seen him with many times over the last couple weeks. He’s tall, wears a slim suit with no tie, a flashy watch, and his dark hair pushed back. Handsome in a different way, but not really my type. Evander approaches and leans against the counter.
“We need to speak,” he says.
“Maybe when I’m done my shift.” I pointedly keep making a fresh pot of coffee.
“You can go whenever you want!” Demetrios calls out. “Mr. Kazan, do not worry, we treat Camille like family here. She is free to do as she pleases!”
Evander nods to Demetrios and I’m pretty sure the old Greek man starts blushing like a schoolgirl. It’d be cute if I weren’t so annoyed with him.
“This is important.” Evander moves closer, voice pitched lower. “I won’t ask again.”
His bodyguard or friend or whatever he is looks at his watch. “We have that meeting in an hour,” he says.
“Thank you, Lycus. I understand.” Evander’s gaze doesn’t stray from mine.
“It’s going to get busy in here soon,” I say. “I don’t want to leave them shorthanded.”
“I will wait tables!” Demetrios calls out. “I will wear the uniform, no worries, I still have wonderful calves! Ha-ha!”
Evander’s jaw works. “Camille.”
“Fine,” I snap and take off my apron. “But if this is some bullshit—” I stop myself from going off when I become aware of every eye in the place staring at me. All his men, his associates and soldiers, looking at me with surprise, shock, some of them even with loathing.
They’d never talk to their lord that way.
A bunch of asshole cowards.
But maybe it’d be a good idea to bite my tongue for once, just in case.
Evander simply nods. “Good. We’re leaving now.” He turns away and glares toward a table of his men. “Order more food, you lazy fucks. I’ll be back.”
They salute him respectfully and Evander walks out.
His friend Lycus remains behind, studying me, head tilted to the side. He smiles slightly as I come around the counter.
“You know, I’ve seen him kill men for talking to him like that.”
“Is that supposed to impress me? It only makes me think he’s a psycho. And a murderer.”
Lycus laughs. “Evander’s a lot of things, and proud is at the top of the list. I’m just saying, tread lightly and you might get what you want.”
“And what do you know about what I want?” I stare at him flatly.
He shrugs and walks to the door. “Not a thing, I guess. Come on, let’s not keep the boss waiting.”
I follow him, grinding my jaw in frustration.
Chapter 22
Camille
I follow Evander back into the house, up the central staircase, and into his wing of the mansion. Lycus remains behind with the car and obnoxiously reminds Evander about their upcoming meeting.
“What’s so important he keeps talking about it?” I ask as Evander pauses outside of his office door.
“We’re in the middle of replacing the business we lost when you threw money in the face of the dockworkers’ union reps,” he says mildly.
I clear my throat and try not to turn red. “Right. Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not. Come.” He walks into his office and I follow.
On the desk is a cardboard box. It’s out of place in the otherwise pristine room. Big bookshelves with leatherbound volumes flank either wall, and a huge window overlooks the grounds and the city beyond. A full bar covers the back wall with a wide selection of brown liquor.
“You pulled me from work just to look at a box?” I ask.
“Among other things.” He hands me a phone, the newest Apple model, and I arch an eyebrow at it. “I had one of the staff fish out your previous device and swap over the SIM card. This is your replacement, free of any spyware or limitations, as a symbol of my trust in you.”