Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I haven't even had the chance to say goodbye or thank her, and my chest squeezes at the thought for some reason.
Armed security flank me on each side as they escort me to the helipad. Their expressions remain stoic as they help me into the chopper. I'm airborne in mere moments, and numbness coats my entire body as I watch La Torre gradually shrink until I can no longer see it.
Minutes pass, but my brain feels sluggish, and it feels like I'm only capable of thinking a single thought per minute.
Does my father even...know I'm gone?
Should I even...care?
And is this truly the right thing to do...even if it means ruining someone else's future?
Uniformed staff is waiting at the well-manicured grounds of the Marchetti estate as the chopper makes a smooth landing across a stone fountain that has gargoyles instead of angels playing around its pedestals and tiered bowls.
While I didn't exactly grow up poor, it's easy to see that the Marchettis' wealth is on a whole different level, and that's why...
I still don't get it.
A rivalry between my famiglia and theirs is like saying there's a battle between a fucking plague of roaches...and a herd of elephants. We can throw everything we've got at them, but it wouldn't make a difference. It's the Marchettis who's been calling the shots from day one, the Marchettis alone with the power to decide if they want us out of the picture, permanently.
The Marchettis could've crushed us at any point in time, and they should've done so a long time ago...if their famiglia was in their right mind.
But they clearly weren't, since they had proposed an interspecies marriage between elephants and roaches instead.
"Signorina?"
An older man in a dark suit approaches me, his tone and manner so perfectly deferential I already know he has to be a third-generation mafia. Or more.
He introduces himself as Francisco and gestures to the imposing-looking mansion behind him. "May I escort you inside? Signora Marchetti requests for a moment of your time before your rest."
I only nod. He could've told me la signora wanted me to dance my way to her office, and I'd still have nodded.
We're in Boston now.
A request from the city's de facto ruler is nothing but a veiled command, and what she wants, she shall get, asap.
The atmosphere inside the Marchettis' mansion is tastefully...austere. Walls of darkly stained wood and marbled floors. Sculptures of angels everywhere and cushions in blood-colored leather. It's a living room that's designed to impress, but if you know what to look for, you see right away that every inch of this place has also been designed for war.
And it's a war that the Marchettis mean to win.
Potenziana Marchetti is seated on the couch when I enter her study. Silver hair, dark eyes, and her trademark pearls around her neck. She's everything legends have made her out to be: petite and powerful, delicate and dangerous.
Scary as fuck in other words, but my heart seems to have turned into stone, and I just don't feel anything.
She gestures for me to take a seat, and I obey the silent directive.
"How are you feeling, bambina?"
The endearment catches me off guard. But it's not enough to make me feel.
Nothing seems to matter, and all I can manage is a shrug.
It's rude for sure, and if she kills me for it...
So what?
Silence resumes, but I can't make myself care about it either.
The coldness in the room slowly penetrates my skin, and I wonder absently if the Marchettis are like vampires or something. Boston in autumn has temps low enough that would have been classified as winter in other cities.
But here we are, with the A/C on in her office. Is she, like, undead?
"You're in shock."
Probably.
"It's understandable."
Maybe.
"No child should endure what you did."
No shit.
"Our brain tends to shut down when encountering something it cannot comprehend. But it will not do you good to fool yourself."
The briskness of her tone reminds me of how the Angel of Death speaks. Is it weird that I find this comforting as well?
"If you had been born in a different world, you would have all the time you needed to process what happened. But because our world is different, you can only take this one day to cry and let it all out. But come tomorrow, you must move forward."
I just keep staring at her.
What the hell is she talking about?
How can I cry when I can't even feel—-
"Your father was supposed to protect you."
My body jerks at her words.
"But instead he sees nothing wrong in entrusting you to the man who wished to violate you."
Stop.
"Your pain is supposed to be his pain, too."
STOP.
"But instead, he's the one who's hurting you the most."
"Shut up!"
I don't care if it's the height of stupidity to snap at the Queen of Boston's underworld.
"I'm sorry, bambina."
"Then shut up," I snarl out. "Why can't you just shut up?"