Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
All right, that’s bullshit. I would have done so if I had no other option. I’ll do what I have to do to protect Riley. Something is going on at that fucking school, and I’m going to figure out what it is. Riley is going to learn that when I want something, I don’t stop until I get it. Right now, I want to make sure she’s okay. I have this burning need to take care of her. To not let anyone else ever hurt her again.
“Nikolai.” Matteo’s face grows serious now. “There are a lot of powerful people’s children at that school. Let's not make a bigger mess than needed. I prefer to keep the favors I’ve earned.” Matteo does love to collect his favors. I’d call them more debts owed to him. It’s how he remains so powerful. The high-powered men he’s talking about like things taken care of, but they don’t like to get their hands dirty.
“I’m not making any promises,” I tell him. I’m not going to lie to Matteo. “You don’t want people to think they can fuck with your sister and get away with it. Do you?” It might be his sister-in-law, but it still matters. I know my words hit the mark because I see Matteo’s clenched jaw. There is no way in hell Matteo would allow such disrespect toward his family.
Matteo isn’t one to really have any tells, except when it has to do with something surrounding his new wife. His emotions run higher. I get it. I've been a hothead since Riley came stumbling into my life. I am always itching for a fight. It helps burn off whatever is inside me that she’s brought to life.
I thought I’d gotten it under control, but I was proven wrong Saturday night when I went into the club to work. I made myself go, knowing it was the only way I was going to stay out of Riley’s room. Going in when I shouldn’t be there has now become a habit. I ended up in a few fights before Matteo made me leave. I didn’t go home. It had been too early, but luckily for me, Church was working, and he's my favorite to join on the job. Even if he fucking hates it.
“Well, make me proud. I expect a 4.0, or I’ll have to ground you.” Matteo says this with a straight face.
“Fuck you.” I grab the paper off the desk with my new schedule. Both Sal and Matteo chuckle. “And stop buying Riley fucking breakfast,” I tell Sal before I make my way out of Matteo’s office. The sound of their laughter follows me.
I wanted to take her to school, but I had to finish up my enrollment at my new high school. It didn’t take much for Matteo to get me into Riley’s school. Well, not much to him. He donated a new library. The dean was practically salivating when Matteo called him for a meeting Sunday afternoon.
When I make it to the school, they buzz me into the front office. I ignore the people who turn to glance my way with confused expressions. That makes two of us. I barely remember the schools I went to when I was a kid in Russia. It wasn't long before I was running the streets. Those were my real teachers in life.
"Ah, how can I help you?" asks the girl with dark hair behind the front desk. Her cheeks flush red, making her appear sick.
When Riley blushes, she turns a soft pink, which lights up her freckles. It’s one of the hottest things I have ever seen. I love that softness about her. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Maybe my brain is fucked up from the whorehouses my mother would drag me to while she worked. All of those women would be overexaggerated to get attention and make money. I’ve seen enough shit to last me a lifetime. The sex trade isn’t new to me. In fact, it often puts me on edge, bringing back memories that I don’t care to remember.
“Checking in. I need my badge,” I tell her. Her eyes drop to the polo shirt I’m wearing that has the school crescent over my left pec. Never in my life would I have imagined myself in a getup like this. I can’t blame Sal and Matteo for making fun of me. I look like an uptight asshole.
“What’s your name?”
“Nikolai Cattaneo,” I tell her. Her eyes widen a fraction at my last name. I’m sure she’s confused because I’m clearly not fucking Italian, and the Cattaneo name is well-known. Matteo gave it to me when he brought me to the States years ago.
“Right, okay.” She gets more flustered but directs me where to stand to take my picture and print my ID pass. “I’ll get someone down here to give you a tour.” The woman picks up her phone.