Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 8193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 33(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 8193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 33(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
“Lorenzo? What are we doing in here?”
“Getting reacquainted. I have to tell you something, and if you want to walk away after that, I’ll let you. But if you stay, you’re mine forever. I lost you once and won’t do it a third time.”
“There won’t be a second time, but tell me whatever you need to tell me.”
“Have you heard of the Vitali reputation?”
“Yes. Of course, every adult in the tri-state area has.”
“Okay, so it’s true,” I begin knowing that telling her anything about the family is a huge risk, especially since I don’t know how she will handle it.
“Okay,” she laughs. When I don’t, she stops. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Very much so. I’m a hitman, mostly for my own family, but I’ve been known to take outside contracts.”
“Okay, I can live with that,” she says after several minutes.
“That’s not the worst of it.”
“It’s not?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
“No. Last night I killed Salvatore Bianchi.”
“You killed him? Like he’s dead-dead?”
“Yeah, he’s either swimming in the Hudson or a vat of acid right about now.”
“I see.” She sits down at the foot of my bed.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“I’m free?”
“Free? Weren’t you free in the divorce?”
“No. He hurt me,” she whispers, and I drop to my knees in front of her.
“What?” I growl, and she jumps. “Sorry. I’m a violent motherfucker, Betty, but I would never hurt you or your children.” She touches my cheek with the palm of her hand.
“I know.”
“Tell me what he did to you?”
“You won’t judge me?”
“Of course not.” It’s too soon to tell her that I’ve always loved her. That I may have married someone else, but that was a political alliance. I’ve never fucked her or any other woman, for that matter. I’m a thirty-four-year-old virgin, and I know how pathetic that sounds, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I lost my heart in fifth grade and couldn’t do anything about it. I thought of finding her when I was old enough, but she looked so happy with her husband. I couldn’t do that to her. I fucking should have, though.
“Autumn’s dad wasn’t a nice guy. He was probably seventeen when I was fourteen. I was looking for something that I didn’t have at home. We… dated, I guess, for a few weeks, and then he ditched me, going back to his main girlfriend. I found out I was pregnant, and my parents kicked me out, saying they wouldn’t feed my brat. I told James, but he told me to leave him alone, as his girlfriend was also pregnant, and they were getting married. I stayed with friends while I worked two jobs and went to school. I was only a freshman. I finished high school and worked as many jobs as necessary to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”
“What is that motherfucker’s name?” I demand.
“James Wyatt,” she says, without hesitating, but then thinks better of it. “Why?”
“I’m not going to kill him, just give him a stern talking too. He owes you eighteen years of money. I’ll make sure you see it.”
“That’s not necessary,” she says, smiling at me.
“Okay, tell me what happened after Autumn was born?”
“For thirteen years, it was just us. I worked, and my whole world was Autumn. Then five years ago, I met Sal. He was a regular at one of the diners I worked at. He seemed like a nice guy. He wasn’t. He eventually wore me down, and I went on a date with him. He… forced himself on me and got me pregnant. I married him because I couldn’t do it alone again. I couldn’t. I thought he’d help, and he did at first, but then Autumn and I had to do it, and the boys just kept coming. He always hit me, but I kept telling myself that I could handle anything as long as he didn’t hurt the kids. He cheated on me. The pitying looks I got from everyone all over Brooklyn killed me. I hate to be pitied. Then he slapped Autumn for spending her money on a package of fancy ramen noodles, the spicy kind. It was like a dollar thirty-nine. She could have found that in the couch cushions. He hit her so hard she fell and hit her head. I kicked him out and filed for divorce. It took almost every dime Autumn, and I saved for emergencies, but we did it. The judge granted him visitation, and every time he’d come over, he’d be drunk and hurt me some more. Then two weeks ago, he stopped coming. We were divorced, but I wasn’t free. I’m free. My babies are free.” She’s crying now, and I fucking hate that she even has to shed a tear over that bastard.
“The hit was ordered two weeks ago. I finally found him last night. I wish to God I had prolonged his torture before I killed him. He’s in hell now, baby.”