Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“If you get anywhere fucking near her—”
A third and fourth come at me. I manage to incapacitate one with a kick that shatters a kneecap and even get on top of the fourth. I pin him beneath my knees and smack him with my head, knocking him out cold. “Fucking pussies. Uncuff me and I’ll take fucking all of you.”
Something pricks my neck.
I growl like a rabid animal and bite the hand that holds the syringe. I bite hard until I’m deafened from the screams, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
“You will do what I tell you,” the boss says placidly, as the room swirls around me. “And now you know exactly what’s at stake.”
CHAPTER THREE
Starla
“You don’t have to escort me,” I say, yanking my arm out of my bodyguard’s grip. Giorgio is nice enough but old-fashioned, and the only reason I can think of why he’d hold me is because he’s afraid I’m going to take off. “I’m not going to run.”
Giorgio’s taller than I am by a head or so, built like a cinder block, with steely-gray, short-cut hair and a nose that’s seen better days. “I don’t think you’re going to run,” he says in a steady voice. “I want to keep you safe.”
Keep me safe.
Why?
I look back at my phone and don’t see any more messages from Sergio or Eden.
The chill winter air nips with the promise of snow, but none of these guys wears a coat. Figures. I, on the other hand, would pay big bucks for those sheepskin-lined boots I just ordered.
“In the car, Starla.” Giorgio gives me a look that tells me if I don’t get in, he’s going to stuff me in and lock the door.
The half a dozen men sent to escort me wherever we’re going surround the vehicle. The old-fashioned streetlights of Boston provide meager lighting, but enough that I can see a flash of metal in their hands. What the hell? We’re in downtown Boston; my apartment is nestled smack dab off Beacon Street, so we are far from alone. Pedestrians and college students stream past us, and I can already see some of them pointing to us and whispering. Don’t these guys even care that everyone can see us?
I’m suddenly very afraid. My pulse races and my stomach plummets. “What happened?” I whisper. When Giorgio looks ahead stoically and doesn’t respond, I reach for one of the other guys and grab his arm. “What happened?”
Finally, one of them takes pity on me. “Mr. Montavio will explain. Please get in the car. We don’t want to force you, but we will if we have to.”
My throat gets strangely tight. My skin prickles. I swallow so I can talk. “Which Mr. Montavio?”
They share a look that passes briefly, but I catch it. “Sergio.”
Sergio. Of course, it’s Sergio. He’s the Don of the Montavio family.
I swipe impatiently at the tears on my cheeks as we drive. Why would I even get my hopes up? “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Again with the shared looks.
“Okay, alright, that’s enough of that,” I snap. “This whole cloak-and-dagger game was old when you showed up. What. Is. Going. On?”
Giorgio finally blows out a breath. “We’re taking you to Bella Notte.”
I stare.
I blink.
Um, what?
I wasn’t even supposed to know about Bella Notte, the exclusive, high-end sex club owned by my brother-in-law. They managed to keep it a secret from me for years. Eventually, though, I found out. I heard things through the grapevine. I wanted to know where Sergio went at night, and exactly where my sister Eden was a head chef in Boston.
But we didn’t really talk about it. I certainly wasn’t invited there. I have to practically use fairy dust and a magic wand just to get in, and always with the understanding that I only visit the communal rooms at the very entrance, which might as well be a hotel with a nice restaurant. I definitely don’t get to the good stuff.
If I’m being taken there, it’s for a damn good reason and I don’t know what could’ve precipitated this strange turn of events.
Do I want to know?
Wait.
My heartbeat spikes.
I clear my throat. “Are Eden and Sergio okay?”
Giorgio’s answer is prompt. “Yes.”
I dial Eden.
It goes straight to voicemail.
I call Sergio next.
Same.
Thankfully, the ride is short and the traffic uncharacteristically light tonight. We get there quickly.
“We’re heading in, Starla,” Giorgio says, drawing out his gun. “You’re staying right by my side. I want you to listen carefully.”
I stare at him. I feel like we’re on the verge of a war, like I’m being brought to some kind of bunker before something terrible and disastrous happens.
I lick my lips. “Yes?”
“If I tell you to drop to the ground, you drop to the ground. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to get back in the car—”