Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Ouch.
Mario doesn’t respond.
“They need to talk with your dad or brother.” Violet says unassumingly. “Please?”
“They’re packing, heading to Tuscany. They don’t want company right now.”
Skylar sidles up to him and kisses his cheek. He rests his hand on her hip, and Cain’s whole body tightens.
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
Mario grunts, whispers something in Skylar’s ear, and she giggles like a little girl. God.
She whispers back to him. “Alright,” he says with a nod. “Five minutes. I’ll bring you in, make sure you don’t get shot, then you’re out of here, but all I’m giving you is five minutes.”
“That’s all we’ll need,” I assure him.
Storm clouds roll in overhead, as the large front door opens. A pretty woman, probably old enough to be my mother, stands on the front step. Her figure’s impeccable, and her clothes are high-end. She wears torn jeans, a black fitted top, and boots to her knees, but it’s the calculating look of charm she gives me I notice most of all.
“Skylar! How lovely to see you, my sweet. Come, come in, Skylar.”
Skylar trots up the steps and kisses the woman on each cheek.
“Mama, this is Skylar’s brother Cain and his associate, Violet. This is my mother, Tosca. They need to talk to Dad or Romeo.”
The woman escorts us in. “Ah, of course. Come in,” she says warmly. “My husband’s busy preparing for our trip this afternoon, but my son should be here. Please, make yourself at home.”
Four armed guards in suits stand nearby, their faces stoic and unmoving. One steps to the front.
“Weapons, please.”
Cain and I don’t balk, but hand him our guns without question. I don’t move, hoping they don’t notice the knife sheath. I give Cain a quick look and he shakes his head so casually, one might not notice. I don’t take out my knives.
“Is that all?” he asks pleasantly, though his posture tells me this man knows how to shoot a gun and he isn’t afraid to use it.
I nod. Probably not a good idea to lie, but it’s a worse idea to go into the Rossi family home unarmed.
Though they seem friendly and their house is gorgeous, there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on in the air.
Skylar and Mario are gone. “Where’d Sky go?” I ask Cain.
His lips thin, but Tosca Rossi’s all charm. “Ah, they went off a bit by themselves. Come, have a seat. Can I get you a drink, Mr. Master?”
I catch Cain’s eye. She knows exactly who he is.
“Hot tea would be fantastic, thank you.”
She smiles. “Of course. And you, Violet?”
“The same.” Neither of us will drink the tea, but I know why he’s asked for it. I’m surprised Tosca’s fallen for it. A hot beverage makes an excellent makeshift weapon if push comes to shove.
She busies herself with preparing our tea, and even serves it on a gorgeous platter nestled by a plate of homemade cookies.
“Please,” she says. “Help yourself.”
I take a cookie, only to be polite, and thank her. We sit and stir our tea while she asks us about our travels, if we’ve been to Italy, and tells us all about how she loves their home in Tuscany but prefers the modern conveniences of living in Salem.
A few minutes into our conversation, the tea’s grown cool when the door to the study opens and a tall man, older but resembling Mario, enters.
Tosca stands and plucks our cups out of our hands and puts them on the platter sitting on the table. “Now, now, Mr. Master, you didn’t think I was so naïve, did you really?”
She places a hand on his leg, and I want to slap her away. How dare she flirt with my—no. No, he isn’t mine. She can fuck him for all I care.
I ignore the way my belly churns with a fiery, volcanic heat.
Cain stands and extends his hand. “Cain Master. This is my associate, Violet.”
Romeo Rossi shakes both our hands with a grave nod. “Welcome. Please, have a seat and tell me why you’re here, though I’ll thank you to keep our conversation brief. You’ve arrived just before we leave for a trip overseas.”
“I apologize, Mr. Rossi,” I say, as politely as I can. “Our matter’s rather urgent, and thank you in advance for anything you can tell us that would help us.”
He sits, crosses one leg over the other, and nods. Though he’s attractive—one might even say hot, with his large physique and presence that fills the damn room—he’s no Cain. There’s a ruthlessness in his eyes I haven’t seen in recent years, something that tells me he’d kill me just as soon as look at me. I imagine he inspires fears in his enemies and respect in his friends. I wonder idly if he has a lover. I glance at his hand and see no ring. Married to his work, then. I mentally roll my eyes. Aren’t they all?