Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
So far, it’s been lucrative for us both. We sit atop one of the most influential and powerful crime organizations in the country. The Armenian Brotherhood owns Baltimore, just like the Zeitsev Bratva owns a large chunk of Philadelphia.
With our combined might, we’ll force all the other families to their knees.
All I have to do is stay married to the girl—
And get her pregnant.
But right now, as I unlock the door to our honeymoon suite and lead her inside, I suspect it’s not the moment to mention the baby issue.
Soon though. Tonight, even.
Unlike her father, I’m not going to spring it on her at the last minute.
“It’s nice,” she says, looking around. Still hugging herself. There’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and rose petals scattered on the floor.
“Staff must’ve taken the honeymoon thing literally,” I grumble as I kick some of the flowers aside. “We’ll spend the night here. You can have the bed. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, pack your things, and we’ll get out of here before dinner.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, lingering near the small couch.
Fuck, she doesn’t even know where I live.
“Baltimore. I have a house next to the harbor. You’ll like it.”
“I’ve never been to Baltimore before.”
“The Brotherhood controls the city. You’ll be safe in my home.”
“Right. Safe.” She sits on the edge of the bed, breathing fast. “Sorry. I just, I’m trying to process.” She laughs bitterly. “I thought tonight was a birthday party.”
My eyebrows raise. “It’s your birthday?”
“Twenty-five. Imagine that. I’ve barely left my house in over ten years, and I thought finally I was going to be brave and go to a party. Now look what happens.”
There’s a whole lot to unpack in that sentence. I move over to her, drop to a knee, and take her hand in mine. She flinches back.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her and kiss her thumb. “Twenty-five. That’s a good age.”
“Yeah? How old are you?” She pulls her hand from mine and covers her mouth. A hysterical giggle escapes her lips. “You’re my husband, and I don’t even know how old you are.”
“Thirty-three.” I stand and give her some space. I’m tired from this mess and just want it to be done. “There’s another room over there.” I gesture toward it. “That’s where I’ll be.”
“You’re just leaving me alone?” More panic in her tone.
“I didn’t think you’d want me hanging around.”
“No, it’s just, I don’t—” She gets up, storms over to the champagne, and rips it from the bucket. She fiddles with the paper and the covering. “How the hell do you open this thing?”
“Let me.” I take it from her and twist off the cork cover, then pop it open. She flinches and looks away. I pour two glasses. “You said something a minute ago about not leaving your house.”
“Looks like we both should’ve done more research,” she mutters, drinking the champagne. But she doesn’t elaborate. “I need something to sleep in.” She gestures down at her dress.
“Give me a moment.” I step into the other room and call down to Damian. I tell him to go to her house and get her some clothes. When I come back in, she’s refilling her glass. “Clothes are on their way.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.” I finish my drink and study her. She’s over near the window. Her hair’s down to the center of her back, and I can picture wrapping it around my fist as her lips glide up and down my vein-covered shaft. How the fuck am I having these thoughts about a woman I don’t even know? Some scared girl on her twenty-fifth birthday?
Trapped in a marriage she doesn’t want.
And yet the monster in me likes the idea of making her mine.
“Tell me about yourself then.” She keeps her distance, but the alcohol seems to be loosening her up. “Just one brother?”
“Technically, he’s my cousin, but it’s a long story. We were raised as brothers, and I owe him everything.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“What about you?”
“One older brother. He was there tonight.”
I vaguely recall an angry-looking young man with some family resemblance, though I could barely keep my eyes off her.
“Are you close?”
“Sometimes, but it’s hard, you know? He moved out and has his own life. While I just…” She gestures in the air.
“Stayed inside.”
“Exactly.” She laughs lightly, but there’s an edge to it. “You know, a crazy shut-in.”
“I don’t think you know crazy, pisik.”
“What does pisik mean, anyway? It’s something like… small cat?”
“Little kitten.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
I finish my champagne and fill another glass. I ask her questions about her life growing up, some of which she dodges. I get the sense that whatever happened, it happened when she was young, and it left her with the scar on her face.
Mostly, she talks about school, hobbies, and her garden.