Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
My heart is racing as I hear the door open. Am I expecting Alessandro? And what will I do if I see him? Shoot? Can I? Am I strong enough?
But I don’t have to think about that because at the same time the front door opens, so does the kitchen door, and I’m taken by surprise. I shift my gun from the man at the front to the one behind me, just processing Giovanni’s outline as I pull the trigger, the sound crashing through the clean, clear night. Tainting it.
Simultaneously I’m thrown against the wall, and my head hurts with the impact, disorienting me. He uses that instant to disarm me, catching me as I begin to fall forward.
The lights go on, and it’s too bright. Too artificial.
“What the fuck is it with you and guns?” Giovanni asks, keeping hold of me as he checks the chamber of the pistol, engages the safety, and tosses it to Vincent, who catches it.
“Let me go!”
“I feel like we’re on repeat sometimes, you and me.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, struggling for him to free me. He’s got me cradled against him and has both my wrists in one of his hands.
“I got this, Vincent. Wait outside for us.”
Giovanni turns his full attention to me. I hear the front door close and stare up at him. He’s taken off his jacket, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. There’s blood on his clothes, but I don’t think it’s his. But it’s not his clothes I’m interested in. It’s the way he’s looking at me. It’s different. There’s something different in his gaze.
It takes him a full minute to let me go. I step back when he does, rubbing my wrists.
“Where’s my father?”
“I moved him this afternoon. This was just a temporary location.”
“Where did you move him to?”
“Why? You going to run off to the next house?”
“I have a right to know.”
“Why did you leave the house? I put you there for your own safety.”
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you. And I don’t want you. Just leave me alone.” I take a step, wanting to get around him. But he stops me.
“Where are you going?”
“I have a taxi waiting.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, he’s around the block.”
“I sent him on his way. You’ll go home with me when I’m ready.”
I take a step back, feel the sadness of earlier creeping back in. Feel that hopelessness. “Why? I don’t know what else you want with me. I mean, tonight, you set me up. You act like you’re putting me in that dress for me, telling me I have nothing to be ashamed of—”
“You don’t. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
I stop for a second. It’s his tone as much as what he says. It’s like he means so much more than he should mean. Than he should know.
But I don’t want to think about that, so I go on. “You betrayed me. You put me on display. You used me and humiliated me when I trusted you.”
“You don’t trust me. You never did. You said so yourself.”
“And, God,” I shake my head. “Would you really do what he did to me to someone?” I ask, thinking about the women he threatened to have whipped.
“Emilia—”
“Would you?”
“Let’s go home, Emilia.” He takes my arm.
I tug it free. “My home is separate from yours, and I have to find a new one now.”
“I told you, I’m not going to let your brother hurt you.”
“You can’t keep me safe forever. He’ll come for me. I got away once. I’m not getting away again. You think I don’t know that?”
He looks at me strangely, almost sadly. He touches my face, my cheek.
“I know what those men did to you.”
My brain processes his words in slow motion. Like his speech is slowed down on a recording or something. And no, it’s not sad, that look. I’m wrong. It’s pity. It’s pity I see in his eyes. I think about what happened before I left. Think about how that man, Kill, wanted to talk to him alone. Remember how he was looking at me. But there’s no way they know anything. It’s not possible.
“Did you hear me?” he asks.
I slap his hand away and back up, hug my arms to myself. “Get away from me.”
He comes closer to me. “Emilia, look at me.”
I didn’t realize I wasn’t, but I just look up at his chest. I can’t look at his eyes, not if he knows.
It’s colder in here suddenly, and I’m shivering.
Giovanni’s hands close gently over my arms, then he begins to rub them.
I shake my head, back up some more, hit the wall.
“I killed two of them. The one you saw tonight and Diaz. They’re dead.”
I shift my eyes slowly up to his. I saw him break that man’s nose. Heard what he said about popping out his eyeballs and feeding them to him if he continued to look at me. Apart from my father, no one has ever defended me before.