Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I have Rosalie’s best interests in mind. Not my own.
“Viktor knows what he’s doing,” Uncle Alexei mutters. “He’s the head of the bratva for a reason. I trust he’ll do what’s best for the girl.”
I give my uncle a chin lift, grateful that he’s backing me.
“I’ve given Rosalie the freedom to roam the property, so you could run into her anytime. She’s not to leave the grounds without my permission.”
“So I’m allowed to befriend her?” Mariya speaks up for the first time. She’s only two years younger than me, and we were raised as siblings since birth because our fathers are inseparable.
I smile at the woman that’s like a little sister to me. “I’d like that.”
“Are you leaving her alone today?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “I’ll work from home for a week.”
“I’ll make lunch. Bring Rosalie over so she can meet us,” Mom says.
I nod before walking out of the room. When I get back to my place, it’s quiet, and Rosalie’s door is still closed. I knock and wait three seconds before I open it.
She’s sitting on the floor with her back to the bed, her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. She doesn’t bother looking at me as I enter the room, and when I sit down on the bed, she turns her face away from me.
Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my thighs and look at her. “Do you really want to do this the hard way?”
“Just leave me alone.” Her voice sounds empty, the words nothing more than a hoarse whisper.
I nod and stand up. “We’re having lunch with my family today.”
“Not interested,” she mutters before letting out a heavy sigh.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Just like everything else since you broke into my house and killed my family.” Her voice disappears, and she tucks her face into the crook of her arm.
“It’s the way of the mafia and bratva.”
Her voice is muffled as she says, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I don’t like justifying my actions, especially not twice in one fucking day, but still, I say, “Your grandfather and uncle invaded our territories. They knew what would happen and still didn’t back down. We gave them warnings, which they ignored. Their deaths are on them, and you’re lucky to be alive.”
“Lucky,” she scoffs. Scrambling to her feet, she glares at me, but it has the same effect as a kitten hissing. “Tell me, was I lucky when you forced me to watch my uncle being slaughtered like a pig? Was I lucky when you ripped me from my home and killed my grandfather?” She steps closer, lifting her chin with more bravery than I thought she possessed. “Was I lucky when you strangled me?”
She sucks in a quivering breath, her composure quickly starting to crumble, but her voice is laced with hatred as she continues, “Was I lucky every time you yanked me around like some ragdoll and when you left bruises on my body?”
I take a step closer. “Yes,” I bite the word out. “You weren’t raped and tortured, Rosalie. That makes you fucking lucky.”
Our eyes burn on each other, the atmosphere loaded with our anger.
“You’re a monster,” she hisses. “Nothing more than a despicable human being.”
“Still, I’m better than your family.”
Don’t. Rosalie might not know, and she can’t deal with another blow so soon after the trauma she’s already suffered.
Her features pull with disgust. “You’re not. My grandfather and uncle would never kidnap a girl and hold her against her will.”
No, they’d just get them addicted to drugs and sell them to the highest bidder when they can’t pay their outstanding debt.
That’s why the Cosa Nostra severed ties with Manno. The Sicilian mafia is only interested in dealing in arms, drugs, and racketeering, whereas the Mannos had a taste for the more depraved side of the criminal world.
But it’s clear Rosalie doesn’t know what her family dealt in, and I’m not about to drop that bomb on her.
“Lunch is at twelve,” I mutter before turning around and leaving the room.
“I’m not going,” she shouts after me.
“Either you fucking walk on your own two legs, or I’ll drag you there, but you will go,” I shout back.
“Asshole!”
I let out an unexpected burst of laughter and shake my head.
At least she isn’t crying. Honestly, I prefer her fighting with me. It shows the girl has some strength in her.
Walking into my office, I sit down at my desk and look at the monitors I installed on the entire left wall. I type in Rosalie’s details and watch as information fills the screens – everything from her birth and school records to her social media accounts.
Graduation is in two weeks. I’ll have to remember it, so Rosalie doesn’t miss out.
I notice she has no friends on social media, which I find weird. All the accounts she follows are travel related, and it’s clear she loves old castles and waterfalls from the images and videos she’s liked.