Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I have the thought of taking it from him to shoot his father with it, but where would that get me? Luca doesn’t love me. He has proven time and time again that his loyalty does not lie with me. And as much as I hate him right now, I don’t want to die.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” My father claps his hands, and I jump at the sound.
“Yes, I must be getting back to New York,” Luca’s father agrees. As much business as John Bianchi does here, he hates being in Vegas. He has men here, like Luca, who take care of his shit for him. Luca runs the show, and Matteo plays a close second. “The party to announce the engagement will be this Friday. At Luca’s.”
That’s in two days.
“And the wedding will be in two weeks,” he adds. “It will be held at St. Mary’s Cathedral, and the reception will be here.”
“No one will believe it,” I whisper, my throat tightening.
“Oh, they will.” His father nods once. “Because if not, there will be consequences.”
My knees threaten to buckle at his threat. It was delivered so calmly, sweetly even, but I know he’s serious. The man is known for slaughtering people. His family has always been in the media. He’s been arrested for murders but never convicted. He either pays them off or keeps his hands clean. Either way, he’s not to be fucked with.
Luca ushers me over to a black leather chair in front of my father’s desk.
“I will admit, this is unusual. Most mafioso weddings, the bride is always a virgin.” John gives me a sly grin. “But we are all fully aware that my son popped that cherry years ago.”
I think I’m gonna be sick.
My father opens a drawer, and my heart pounds when I see him remove the paperwork from earlier and placeit down on the surface.
“No.” I jump to my feet. “I won’t do this.”
“Haven—” Luca begins.
His father interrupts him, spitting out some Italian I don’t understand. Four years of two different foreign languages and I never took Italian. Luca and I always joked that he would teach me, but we never got around to it.
Luca snaps something back, and his father squares his shoulders. Then his eyes land on mine. I take a step back.
“I’ve already signed it,” my father growls. “And so have the Bianchis.”
A vise grips my chest, and I shake my head. He rounds the desk, picking up the papers, and when I go to turn around and leave, he grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers together.
“Ow, Daddy,” I cry out. “You’re hurting me.”
He yanks me to the desk, and I stumble over my own feet, falling into it. He grips the back of my neck and holds me over it. My palms hit the surface, and I’m gasping for a breath. The tears pricking my eyes keep from being able to read the words on the white paper before me. “Sign it!” my father yells.
I shake my head. The tears that were clouding my vision fly, but new ones instantly replace them. “I won’t …”
He places a pen in my left hand and then wraps his hand around mine, crushing my fingers together painfully. I yank it away, and his large wedding ring cuts my finger. I stumble back, holding my hand to my chest.
My father straightens, and his blue eyes look at me with disappointment. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s never treated me remotely close to this. Why now? Why them?
“Fine,” he growls, then leans over the table and signs my name for me.
“That’ll never hold up in court,” I spit at him, my chest constricting from his betrayal.
“We are the court,” Luca’s father says with a sinister smile.
I fist my hands, my nails digging into my skin. Angry and fucking broken, I stand here helpless. What did I do for him to give me away so easily? Had he planned this all along?
I look over at Luca, and he’s glaring at my father’s smug smile. He doesn’t want me. This is his father’s doing. He left me and didn’t plan on coming back. But our fathers got together and devised this insane plan to tie our families. The only question is why? We’re not Mafia. My father isn’t a mob boss. That I know of.
“Nite.” Luca calls out a name, and I jump back when a man steps out from the shadowy corner.
Oliver Nite. They call him Silent Nite. He doesn’t speak, not anymore, and I don’t know why he took a vow of silence. How long has he been there? He looks at Luca, his large, muscular arms down by his sides. He’d be really attractive if not for his angry expression and kill-all attitude.
“Remove Haven from the room,” he orders.
I have a moment of panic when my throat closes on me. I don’t want to be in here, but I also don’t want to be with Nite either. We were never close. He’s a Bianchi. A killer.