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 points at the door. “Get out of my fucking sight.”
Giorgio balls his fists, but he turns for the door.
“You better stay here tonight,” Luigi calls after him. “And tomorrow. I don’t want another fucking impulsive murder on my hands.”
Giorgio shoots a look over his shoulder, not making a secret of the hatred that burns in his eyes.
“Christ,” Luigi says when Giorgio is gone, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We don’t fucking need this, not with the stock Raphael is moving right now.”
“Tell him to put a hold on things. We shouldn’t take any risks.”
Luigi rubs a hand over his brow. “The Mexican cartels aren’t going to like it. The negotiations are too far underway. They’ll see it as a breach of the agreement we made.”
“The agreement Raphael made, you mean.”
“Yes, Raphael. What difference does it make?”
“I told you it was a bad idea to bring Raphael and the fucking cartels in. Do you think the feds aren’t waiting for a reason to get search warrants?”
“This is your mess, Sav.” He stamps his cane on the floor. “You fucking made it.”
“And I would’ve cleaned it up if Giorgio didn’t go off the rails and acted like Chucky with a knife.”
“It’s all that woman’s fault,” he says, going red in the face.
“That woman is going to be my wife, and she’s the only reason our books aren’t one big fucking train wreck waiting to happen. We can’t launder the money without her, Luigi. You know it.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” he yells. “You tell me.”
“The cartels are Raphael’s contacts. Tell him to handle them. If their relationship is as solid as he claims, he’ll be able to stall them until the dust settles.”
“If they find out the DEA is breathing down our necks, the deal will be off.”
“Then it’s off. Good riddance. Besides, they already know about the raid.”
“Raphael kept it quiet,” he grumbles.
“No one can keep it that quiet.”
“Fuck,” he shouts, turning his face to the ceiling.
“Do you need me for anything else?”
He looks back at me. “Keep Giorgio on a tight leash.”
I hold his gaze. “I guess that means the hit on Anya is off.”
His eyes flare ever so briefly before he fixes his mouth in a cold smile. “He told you.”
“You should’ve been the one who told me.”
“Is that why you’re marrying her? To make sure I can’t touch her?”
“I’m marrying her because I need her.” In more ways I can explain.
His lips thin as his smile stretches. “No hard feelings.”
Yeah. I don’t think so.
I return his smile, mine frosty. “Raphael is going to fuck you over at the first chance he gets. This deal is a mistake.”
“So you’ve said. Raphael is family now. He won’t jeopardize our relationship. Elena will soon give him children, and then the blood tie will be complete.”
“I hope for your sake you’re right.”
He waves me away. “Good night, Sav.”
Finally.
I’m glad this fucking night is over.
At last, I can do what I want to do most, which is to go home to my pregnant fiancée.
Fiancée.
I say the word out loud as I walk to my car, getting a feel for it on my tongue, and it’s just about the most satisfying sound I’ve uttered or heard.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Anya
Ababy’s cry carries on the night, reaching my ears with the breeze that blows through the bedroom window. I rub my eyes and focus to clear the cobwebs of sleep from my mind.
Goosebumps prickle over my arms while I shiver in my satin nightdress. The bedcovers are tangled around my feet. Nothing but a thin sheet covers me.
It’s cold.
The moon shines like a beacon in the sky, illuminating the room and creating shadows in the corners.
Who opened the window?
I reach for Saverio next to me, but my palm brushes over the cool cotton of a pillowcase. Pushing up on one elbow, I frown as I look down. The pillow is fluffy and uncreased. Unused. His place is empty.
I sit up, my skin contracting from the bite of frost in the air.
“Saverio?”
The baby cries again, the sound coming from the nursery.
I turn my face toward the door. It’s ajar, a wedge of soft lamplight spilling through the crack. A mobile plays softly in the background, the tune familiar but the notes like music from a fairground.
I swing my legs over the bed and stand.
The crying turns louder.
“Mommy’s coming, sweetheart.”
I grab a robe from the chair and pull it on as I rush on bare feet to the far side of the room. The curtains billow in the gust of icy wind that barrels through the windows. I push them closed and hook the latch in place before hurrying to the nursery while tying the belt of the robe around my waist.
The cries become quieter, turning into unhappy sniffling. I enter the nursery with the yellow walls and the colorful stuffed animals on the bookshelves. Shadows from the rotating dolphin nightlight creep along the walls. The curtains are open, letting in a shard of moonlight that pierces the crib. The baby is quiet now, but the merry-go-round notes of the mobile are distorted and plays out of tune.