Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I stand third in line as soft music starts playing and the curtains withdraw, revealing a cavernous room that seems all shadows. The spotlights make it too difficult to see the crowd, and my nerves make it impossible to look up for longer than a moment.
The first woman walks out and then the vulture in charge waves her hand.
The second woman walks out and I approach the edge of the curtain, my heart pounding up my throat, threatening to close it as I try to summon some courage.
All I find is fear and the need to get away as fast as I can.
But if I run the Russos will chase me down and do evil things to me for disrespecting them. That’s how they’ll frame it. I’ve done something wrong to them because I don’t want to prance around like an idiot for their amusement.
Crap, crap, crap.
She’s waving at me now, glaring when I stand there, barely upright in the too-tall heels.
“Move, girl,” she hisses.
She darts forward and grabs my bare arm with her cold hand, making my skin shiver and goosebumps move over me like slimy slugs.
“Move.”
She pushes me.
The momentum carries me around the edge of the curtain and I just about catch myself, feeling as though I’m sitting very high above myself, looking down on this moment rather than living it.
I hold my head high and resist the urge to close my eyes against the blinding lights.
Somewhere on the balcony, a man makes a whooshing noise. I hope it’s not aimed at me. With every shaky footstep down the runway, I feel my calves quiver and threaten to buckle under me. I feel a joke coming from every angle.
I know I’m not strutting or swaying or doing anything I’m supposed to do.
I’m simply walking, trying to get to the end of the runway as fast as possible.
Crap.
I’ve walked too quickly and the last girl is still standing there, twisting and turning for the crowd as some of them jeer up at her. I can’t tell if their catcalls are genuine or if they’re mocking her.
I stand awkwardly, with no idea what to do now.
I’ve ruined it.
“A bit too keen, eh, hot stuff?” a vicious voice growls from above me, from the balcony.
I glance up but the lights are blinding. All I can make out is a series of silhouettes vaguely outlined.
“The fuck you looking at me for?” the man cackles. “Stupid fucking—”
“Finish that sentence and I put a bullet in your head.”
This man’s voice is steady and deep, booming over the function hall, causing everybody to suddenly fall silent. The soft jazz music continues to play incongruously as I stand there, hands clasped in front of me, wondering why the heck this man has come to my defense.
“Don’t be stupid, Luca,” the first man snarls.
Luca – the man with the steady voice – lets out a humorless laugh. “You will not fucking insult her, Franco.”
Franco.
The man insulting me is Franco, the leader of the Russo family. And the man defending me is Luca, the leader of the Lioni family.
What the heck? Why would he defend me?
“Do you know her or something? Is she family?”
“No,” Luca growls.
“Then I can talk to her any damn way I want. I can strip her naked and give her to my men to take turns if they can stomach—”
A loud crash sounds and then men are yelling, voices raised.
I peer up into the light, stunned at the sight of a massive silhouette holding a smaller silhouette up against the wall, lifting him clear off his feet.
Luca is tall and muscled and I think his hair glints silver, but it’s difficult to tell.
“Tell her you’re fucking sorry.”
“You can’t do this,” Franco wheezes.
“I am,” Luca snaps. “Now apologize or I’m going to throw you off this fucking balcony. Now.”
My mind spins crazily as I try to work out why Luca Lioni is doing this. Beneath the confusion gratitude swells, but it’s tinged with suspicion.
Is this about me or is this about mafia business, and am I going to get caught in the middle of it all?
“Let me go,” Franco whines, his voice ringing out like a little boy’s across the hall.
Several men let out instinctive chuckles before killing them a moment later, as though they’re afraid to laugh.
“I said let me go.”
“Tell. Her. You’re. Sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he cries, his voice quivering. “Okay? I’m sorry, lady. Fuck. Just let me go. You’re hurting my neck.”
“Fucking coward.”
Luca drops him and straightens his frame, a massive shadowed outline, his eyes gleaming in the semidarkness.
I want to see what happens next, even if I sense it won’t be anything good, but then somebody is dragging me back toward the curtains. It’s the girl who was in front of me, twisting and posing for the crowd.
“We have to get out of here,” she hisses in my ear. “They might start shooting.”