Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Something like longing sparked in her eyes. She wanted to believe me.
“I didn’t want you to see what happened after the auction ended,” I continued, needing to explain my reasoning. “All I could think about was shielding you from that.”
She paled. “And what happened after I left the club?” she asked, a soft challenge.
I ground my teeth, holding in the admission. She’d been horrified by my violence. I didn’t want to admit how I’d slaughtered the men who’d been complicit in the girl’s auction. She wanted honesty, but if I told her what I’d done, she might look at me with revulsion again.
“I did what was necessary to save her,” I hedged.
She shivered. “Just like you saved me?”
My stomach turned. “I’ve killed for you several times,” I reminded her, defensive. “You know that. You didn’t look at me like that before.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m evil,” I growled.
My mother’s final expression of horror played through my mind in a sickening loop, blurring with the memory of Evelyn’s fearful, blood-splattered face.
My fault.
My mother’s death had been my fault, just like Evelyn’s plight had been caused by my actions. She’d run away because I was too arrogant and controlling to bother explaining myself to her.
And my parents…
They’d been gunned down because I’d provoked the gang. I’d wanted to be one of those boys. My parents had tried to teach me that violence wasn’t the only path open to me, but I’d disdained their worldview. I’d always wanted to be dangerous, powerful.
Now I was.
And the only innocent, good hearted people who’d ever cared about me had suffered for it. My mother and father were dead. Evelyn had almost been raped.
I buried my face in my hands as the revelations crushed me.
I’d never doubted myself before, never questioned my choices. I took what I wanted and did what was necessary to live. But I hadn’t just survived Le Vele; I’d thrived in my criminal underworld. I loved the freedom my violent lifestyle afforded me, and I’d never stopped to think about who might become collateral damage to my selfishness.
My code of honor dictated that I didn’t harm innocents, but I’d managed to hurt the people closest to me. The ones who deserved my protection the most had suffered because of my choices.
My parents had died because of my desire to be camorrista. And Evelyn had been victimized because I’d dragged her to a meeting with two of the most dangerous drug lords in the world. She shouldn’t be here at all.
Her soft fingertips touched my hair in a tentative stroke, barely brushing the dark strands. I leaned into her touch with a low groan, desperate for more tender contact. I was addicted to her, and even though I didn’t deserve her, I craved her nearness. Her forgiveness.
The absolution only she could offer.
“You scared me last night,” she said gently. “But I’m not afraid of you, Massimo.”
My heart was in my throat, cutting off my ability to speak.
“Talk to me,” she urged. “You promised you would explain yourself to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
My hands dropped from my face so that I could meet her lovely eyes. They shone with compassion, her awful fear finally chased away by concern for me.
I cupped her cheeks, cradling her delicate face like she was the most precious treasure in the world.
“This is all my fault,” I confessed. “You were hurt because of me. And my parents…” My throat worked, but I couldn’t force out the words.
Tears glittered on her lashes. Tears for me.
“You said they were killed in front of you. I’m sorry. But you saved me. I’m right here, Massimo. I’m alive.”
“They were killed because of me,” I corrected her, the truth drawn from me like poison from a wound. “I provoked the gang that murdered them. I wanted to join them, and I resented my parents for sheltering me. So, I put them at risk for my own gain. I wanted a life of violence, and they died for it. I got what I wanted.”
She brushed her fingers through my hair again, her touch sure and soothing.
“You’re not responsible,” she countered softly. “The boy who shot them took their lives, not you. You were just a child in a difficult situation.”
“I tried to kill the boy,” I admitted, continuing my terrible confession. “The last thing my mother ever saw was his blood on my hands. It broke her right before she died.”
Even now, I wished the bastard was dead. I should’ve killed him years ago, but he’d joined a rival Camorra clan, and murdering him would’ve started a war. One day, I’d exact my revenge. I’d craved it for so long that I wasn’t sure how to live without my vendetta. It’d given me purpose. Once I was powerful enough, I would put him in the ground.
My mother would be ashamed of the man I’d become.