Need Him Like Oxygen (Lombardi Famiglia #2) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Lombardi Famiglia Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
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Within the ruthless hierarchy of the mafia, Dav and Cinna reign as powerful capos within the same crime family.

Dav, with his gregarious charm and flirtatious disposition, hides a secret darkness that few ever glimpse. Despite his relentless advances, Cinna, strong-willed and fiercely independent, keeps him at arm’s length, determined to prove herself an equal in a male-dominated world.
One night, Cinna’s resolve is fractured when she is brutally attacked, leaving her shattered. Desperate to maintain her hard-earned respect amongst her family, she seeks out Dav, the only person she feels she can trust, begging for his help and swearing him to secrecy.
As she recovers under his protective care, a slow-building chemistry finally ignites between them, leading to a passionate encounter that leaves them both reeling.
But Cinna’s fears push her to erect walls around her heart, leaving Dav behind as she hunts for her assailant.
Yet, destiny keeps drawing them together, and with each dangerous step towards uncovering the truth, their growing feelings become impossible to ignore…

* Each book in this series can be read as a standalone. *

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Cinna

The moon was full, fragmenting through the spiderweb cracks in the windows, casting the room in light that made it hard to find shadows to hide in.

I slumped down the wall, the chill creeping in through the stone, seeping into my bones, making the sweat—or was it blood?—on my skin cool, dragging a shiver out of me.

My breath was coming in ragged gasps.

I couldn’t keep moving.

My lungs were on fire.

I needed a minute, just one, to bring some calm to the chaos in my body.

Even as I sucked in a greedy breath full of dust, exhaust, and the acrid scent of vomit, I heard it.

Heard them.

Footsteps.

Making their way in my direction.

Some part of me, a weak, pathetic part I thought I’d killed off years ago, simply wanted to give into the screaming in my ribs, the pain jackhammering in my skull, the throbbing ache in my arm, and the swirling exhaustion in my head, to slide all the way to the ground, let them find me, and just finish this.

My chin dipped toward my chest, eyes drifting closed, but I clawed my way back toward consciousness.

I had one singular goal here.

Survival.

I couldn’t afford to give in to the pain assaulting me with each movement, with each breath.

I had to keep moving.

Gritting my teeth against the way pain seared up my side as I stood, I turned and started to move again.

My steps were silent after kicking off my boots three rooms, two ripped socks, and two bloody soles ago.

This building, whatever it had once been, was clearly now a hangout spot for kids or junkies, the ground littered with broken beer bottles that sliced into my feet as I kept forcing my way across the room.

I tried not to think about what else might be littering the ground—used condoms, spent needles, piss, or that vomit scent that was getting stronger as I moved across the open space.

There would be time to worry about my injuries and infection later.

Right now, I had to move.

“Come out, come out, wherever you aaaare!” a sing-song voice taunted, making my stomach flip and my adrenaline surge.

There was an eerie silence outside of the building, like the city itself was holding its breath, was waiting to see what happened next.

I hated open floor plans. These big, spacious rooms with nowhere to hide, with nothing to put between you and those who meant you harm.

I crept across the room, my own breath and heartbeat so loud in my ears, I would swear they could hear it, even from a room or two away.

My hand slid instinctively toward my waist, looking for my gun.

The one they’d taken from me already.

Along with my knife.

My mace.

Everything I had to defend myself with.

Now it was just me, my instincts, and my will to survive.

Against three men who wanted me dead.

But not before they made me wish and beg for it first.

I reached outward, hand pressing into the release bar on the door, cringing as it clicked as it pushed inward, praying that my attackers didn’t hear it, didn’t come running.

As it turned out, they didn’t need to run.

Because they were on the other side of the door.

Waiting.

The blow came too swiftly to deflect, a fist straight to the jaw, whipping my head to the side, making me stagger, but not fall.

The next blow, though, landed on my already aching ribs, driving all the air from my lungs, and causing me to crash to the ground, the impact making pain slice through my head, my arm, my side.

“Look at the mighty Cinna now,” a sneering voice taunted as I tried to rise up, getting onto all fours. Before a boot connected with my side, sending me sprawling again, this time on my back. “Hold her down,” he ordered.

Rough hands grabbed me from both sides, pinning my arms and legs to the cold, hard ground, as the ringleader towered over me, the moon casting half his face in shadow, making him look like a villain from a movie.

Not someone I knew.

And that was maybe the scariest part.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, leg rearing back to kick out again, colliding with the ribs on my other side, the pain a white-hot, blinding knife.

I fought the wave of panic as he leaned down, his lips bent in a sick smirk as his hand curled into a fist, the knuckles already broken open from the dozen or so times they had already collided with my face, with my body.

“That’s it,” one of his henchmen cheered as his fist cracked into my jaw, sending my head swinging to the other side as pain ratcheted up my face to pound in my temples. “Make her scream.”

I wouldn’t scream.

They could get my blood.

Break my bones.

But I would never give them the satisfaction of hearing my pain.

“Oh, I think I might make her scream alright,” my attacker said, the wicked gleam in his eyes making my heart lurch in my chest.



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