Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Luigi raises a brow. “And you need a meeting to tell us?”
“You could’ve just emailed the guy’s credentials.” Giorgio takes a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and shoves it between his lips. “I gave up my golf for this.”
“It’s Anya,” I say.
The smile vanishes from Giorgio’s face, the cigarette dipping in the corner of his mouth.
Raphael laughs as if he finds the idea funny. “Your girlfriend?”
I keep my attention on Luigi because he’s the man I need to worry about. A silent question passes between us.
Is Raphael up to date?
Luigi locks his jaw, but he holds my gaze squarely. His non-verbal language says Raphael isn’t aware of the situation. Luigi may stupidly trust him, but he’d never be foolish enough to expose Giorgio by openly admitting that his son assisted in a murder and that my girlfriend is a witness to the crime.
“Anya is a competent bookkeeper,” I say. “In fact, you’ll find her more than competent.”
Coming to my rescue, Dante adds, “She’s a genius with numbers. You won’t believe the shit she can calculate in her head.”
“It’s a win-win,” I say, challenging Luigi with my gaze. “Antonio is left off the hook, and Anya already knows how Lewis worked. Plus, we keep things in the family.”
Giorgio stares at me as if I’m nuts.
Luigi narrows his eyes. “She may be as brilliant as you claim her to be, but what about trust?”
“Trust isn’t an issue. She’s loyal to me.”
“Is she now?” Luigi says, the tilt of his lips mocking.
My answer is confident. “Yes.”
“Prove it,” he throws at me.
I expected him to say that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s no way Anya can ever trust the man who’s supposed to end her life. True, she doesn’t trust me like that, not how a wife is supposed to trust a husband, but she knows I’m not going to kill her.
“Why doesn’t your girlfriend trust you?” Raphael asks, openly provoking me. “Did you dip your dick in someone else’s honeypot?”
I don’t bother to tell him I’m not a cheater. I couldn’t give a fuck what he thinks. He, on the other hand, visited the hookers upstairs the day after his wedding.
“Anya finds herself very much in love with me,” I say, tasting the rancor of that lie like a bitter pill dissolving on my tongue.
The knowledge that she’d rather be miles away from me hooks into my chest and rips holes where it matters in my heart. Her body and obedience are no longer enough. Claiming her started out as a game that made my dick very happy. And then other things came up, reasons I can barely admit to myself. But now that I’ve had a taste of her, I want everything—body, heart, and soul.
“Really?” Giorgio says, not even trying to hide the fact that he finds the idea ludicrous.
Dante frowns. “Why would she be with him if she didn’t love him?”
“Dunno.” Giorgio doesn’t break our eye contact. “Maybe I find that hard to believe because she’s too good for him.”
He’s damn right about that. She has a far greater effect on me than simply making my cock hard. She settles me. Calms me. For a strange reason, I feel at peace when I’m with her. The only time that my head is quiet is when she sleeps in my arms. She’s the sole thing that’s not ugly in my life.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I tell Giorgio.
He holds my stare with a dare in his. “Fine. I’ll bite. How is she going to prove her love and her undying loyalty?”
I look around the room, feeling no small amount of victory as I say, “She’s going to marry me.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Anya
Oh my God.
Antonio really screwed things up. The accounts payable subsidiary ledgers are a crow’s nest of faulty data capturing. The debit and credit totals of the trial balance aren’t equal. The budget is so far off the mark there’s not enough funds to pay salaries. What was he thinking? He didn’t even account for accruals. Don’t get me started on accumulated depreciation.
It’s going to take months to fix this mess.
Suppressing a sigh, I start a new document to make notes.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed while Saverio replaces the bathroom door, the one he broke to get to me. I’m still angry with him. The bruise in my chest hasn’t eased, but as much as I’m trying to ignore him, it’s difficult to do when he’s wearing nothing but ripped jeans that rides low on his hips.
Hormones again.
“You’re frowning,” he says, putting his tools aside.
“This is going to take time to sort out.” I roll my sore neck. “A couple of months at least.”
He walks over and climbs onto the bed. My body tenses in reflex. We haven’t spoken about the engagement or the wedding after he told me he was going to marry me. That didn’t stop us from fucking. We’re like animals, insatiable and wild.