Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
His hair is greying at the temples, his face is gaunt, and the wrinkles under his eyes show his age. For a moment, I wonder if Emilio looks more like his mother, but then Saviatti lifts his golden eyes to mine, and I can see my friend’s resemblance to this piece of trash.
Leaning back in the chair, I lock my stare on Saviatti, before asking, “What are you talking about?”
“Long ago, your father gave me an ultimatum,” he admits, which has me scooting up straighter. He knew my dad. “I’d allowed my family name to become poisoned by the Camorra for many years before I fled. They’d blackmailed me into breaking the rules that’d been instilled in me since I was a young man. I needed an out, so I became an informant for the FBI.”
“So, what? Are you here to beg for forgiveness? I’m not a Boss yet. I think it’s best you talk to the other families directly.”
“No. I mean… Yes, that’s what I am going to do, but I need to settle the debt your father demanded all those years ago. He helped me escape the Camorra, and now I must repay what I owe. There was a contract put in place. He agreed to keep my son safe, which is why I didn’t return to collect Emilio. It was the only way I knew how to keep everyone protected.” The tone of his voice turns hard, angry, but then he sighs when I don’t respond. “Your father was a good friend until I asked for his help.”
“Help doesn’t come free,” I remind Saviatti as I sit forward in my seat, and leaning my arms on my thighs, I tangle my fingers through each other. The pose is non-threatening, but when I lift my head, I notice how he takes me in with fear dancing in the golden orbs he pins on me. “So, what’s the payment? You could’ve just transferred it to my bank account. I didn’t need to be here for it. Oh, and I don’t take cheques.”
Hamilton steps from around his desk, his posture rigid as he brings a folder to my attention.
“This is the contract your father had drawn up, seventeen years ago.” He hands me the document, and I quickly scan it. The letterhead is definitely the Venier coat of arms—a raven settled on a branch with a sleek blade behind it, encircled by thorny branches.
My eyes take in the wording and dates, then I flick to the second page that confirms I’m about to receive the payment whether or not my father is alive. It also confirms not what the payment is, but who.
My gaze snaps to Saviatti.
“You’ve got to be joking,” I grit the words through my clenched teeth as frustration ticks in my jaw.
My father always enjoyed toying with me, testing me when he thought I needed it. But from the sadness on the old man’s face, I can tell this is no fucking joke.
“It was an agreement I had to sign. It’s what your father wanted,” he informs me, his tone fit for a criminal, dark and foreboding, and my chest tightens.
Hamilton steps forward once more, and this time he hands me an envelope. “This goes with the contract.”
He looks at me with pity in his eyes, and I want nothing more than to slice him, limb from limb, in my anger. He knew about this when I came here to listen to my father’s will being read. Jordan and I stood, side by side, as we heard about our father’s last wishes for us. And even then, Hamilton never offered me a look like the one he’s giving me now.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” My voice is hoarse when I question him, and I have to clear my throat in order to find a firmer tone. “You knew, and you could’ve stopped this.”
“There was no stopping what was set in motion years ago, Judah,” he says, his answer not offering me any form of solace. Usually, I seek that kind of reassurance in the darkness at home, but right now, I’m looking for comfort in the gaze of my father’s lawyer. It’s not there.
I look over to Saviatti again. “What is your first name?” I ask.
“Emilio.” He whispers my best friend’s name as if it was a joke. A dark chuckle rumbles in my chest at his answer. “I gave him the one thing of mine I hoped he could be proud of — a good, powerful name.”
I want to break this man in front of me. More so than I’ve ever wanted to hurt anyone else before. But as I fight to control my anger, the door to Hamilton’s office opens with a soft hiss and the room fills with the scent of oranges, refreshing and sweet. Far too fucking delectable for me.