Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Anton considered the suggestion, but only briefly. His step-grandfather seemed to be focusing his attention on the entrance of the home with narrowing eyes instead of on Anton while he spoke. What had him so bothered?
“Is the home sectioned off into different apartments for the guests?” Anton asked.
Nicoli’s cheek twitched. “No.”
Oh, fucking hell no.
“Grandpapa.” Anton rattled off a dozen Russian curses under his breath, frustrated. “Do you even know who we’re sharing the house with?”
“Yes.”
Again, Anton’s gaze slid in the direction of his unusually vague step-grandfather. Nicoli was known for his blunt honesty. This beating around the bush bullshit was not his style. “What am I missing here?”
“God, I’d hoped Daniil would have been right behind us. I drove too fucking fast,” Nicoli muttered quietly.
And just like that ... just like that, Anton fucking knew.
“You didn’t,” he hissed.
“Anton—”
In Russian, he told his grandfather to fuck off before Anton turned on his heel and headed for the beach.
“Anton!” Nicoli shouted behind him.
“Go to hell! Old souls, you said. Fuck off with that shit. I know what you’re pulling, Grandpapa.”
“Anton Daniil, the least you could do is tell me when you’re coming back!”
“Whenever the fuck I feel like it.”
Anton didn’t go far, only enough to be hidden from view by the gate, but he could still see the access drive to the house. Less than a minute after his departure, the front door opened and a man stepped out, closing the door behind him. Anton watched his grandfather and the man survey one another in silence, as if they were sizing each other up for a fight.
Without being told, Anton knew who that man was. He’d seen his face a couple of times in the papers, seen his mug shots plastered across the television.
Roman Carducci.
Italian, Cosa Nostra, and the father to the girl Anton was supposed to marry.
Fuck this whole trip and Nicoli for lying to him.
More agitated than before, Anton turned on his heel and headed for town on foot.
*
“Where have you been?” Sasha demanded when Anton walked into the rental home’s kitchen. “You’ve been gone all morning.”
“Wandering.”
“I wish I could believe you were doing only that, but I can smell the weed from here,” his mother said, disappointment tugging her mouth into a frown. “This is getting out of control, Ant.”
Anton shrugged, lax and lazy. “Found somebody selling in town.”
Lying wasn’t his style and shit, there wasn’t much his mother could do but rage, so.
“Where’s Daniil?” Anton asked, wondering about his father.
“Talking with—”
“The Italians. Great. I’m going to take a fucking nap.”
“Actually, with Nicoli.”
“You know, right now that’s just as bad.”
“Anton ...”
“Which bedroom is mine?”
Sasha sighed. “Bottom floor all the way at the end. Gray sheets on the bed.”
Anton scowled. “Why the basement?”
“Roman asked for it that way.”
That didn’t make any fucking sense. “Why?”
“Viviana is sleeping on the top floor.”
Anton barked out a bitter laugh. “What, like I might try to fuck the girl or something? She’s Catholic, right? Does he have some kind of goddamn chastity setup on her, too?”
“Anton!”
“This is ridiculous. I don’t even like the girl, Ma.”
“You don’t even know her, Anton. I talked to her earlier and she’s very sweet, down to earth. You could really use someone like that in your life right now.”
Great, a perfect little angel for everybody to love.
Sasha gave Anton a look that voiced her displeasure. “Give her a—”
“I don’t want to know her. Later, Ma,” he said, waving his hand.
Anton slipped through the kitchen to go through the living quarters in the middle on the house. The wide wall to wall windows caught his eye and he couldn’t help but glance out at the beach as he passed, seeing the sun high in the sky and reflecting off the blue water and white sand.
That wasn’t what made his walk stumble in its track, though.
No, two people ran by the wall-to-wall windows, turning sharply to make a beeline for the water and laughing so loudly Anton could hear the muffled sound through the glass. A girl and a guy, actually.
She was fucking beautiful. Just the two second glimpse Anton had caught of her face told him that. Her black hair flared out wildly in waves down her back as she ran toward the water, the guy right on her heels. She was tall, too, with curves in all the right places accentuated by tiny board shorts and a bikini top.
It was her smile, though, that her eyes. When she turned back to shout at the guy running after her, she was brilliant in her joy, and it looked honest.
Anton couldn’t remember seeing someone look so completely carefree before.
It kind of stopped the air right in fucking chest, like someone had kicked him there. But Christ, it didn’t hurt and the heavier he felt, the better it turned. At his sides, his hands clenched into fists, fingers aching to find something he didn’t know.