Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
“I’m not… never mind. Let’s just go.” I’m done correcting these people. He opens the back door of a large black SUV, and I climb in the backseat.
“Would you care for some music?” he asks after smoothly sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Um… no, thank you.”
“Do you usually drive their women around?”
“Not Aria because Luigi takes her around, but I’m available when needed.”
“What about Niccolò’s other women?” I see his face through the mirror, and he’s fighting back a smile.
“Mr. Bianchi doesn’t date, ma’am.”
“Oh. Yes. Well. Okay.” I don’t know how to respond to that bit of information or even how to process it. What does that mean? Does he have random hookups, or does he hook up with the prostitutes these mob guys have at their clubs? Maybe he drives himself when he does it.
I don’t even want to ask those questions, and I hate the way it makes me feel to consider it. Where was he the past two days? He never said what he was doing when he wasn’t in the café. I sit back, looking out the window.
A CTA bus stops to let passengers on as we pass by, and I feel blessed to have a ride. Some days taking a bus can be hell, although it’s just cool enough outside to feel good to walk. Since it’s the middle of May, the temps are starting to pick up, but today is in the sixties.
“Are you well, Mrs. Bianchi?”
“You can call me Ivy, Tony,” I say, avoiding his question.
“Thanks, ma’am.” Again, he doesn’t call me Ivy. I power on my phone and see a message from Niccolò. I hope you slept well. Things are running smoothly.
They always run smoothly. That’s not the problem; the damn loss of income is the problem. I want to scream at him because he thinks he can just invade my space and solve all my damn problems, and yet at the same time, I want him to fix everything.
“We’re here, Mrs. Bianchi.” I don’t acknowledge him as I step out of the vehicle with my purse. When I step inside, I find a new person behind the counter.
“Hello, welcome to Ivy’s Café. I’m Marie—how can I help you?” The cute girl smiles at me with a youthful happiness that upsets my jaded soul.
“I’m Ivy. Where is Niccolò?” My tone comes out a little harsher than I mean it to.
“Mr. Bianchi is in the back.”
“Thank you,” I add, hoping to soften my bitchiness. I walk around and through the back to find Ella staring at Niccolò, who is bent over checking the boxes. They both turn to me. She blushes, and he smiles.
Although my anger’s with him, she earns my glare. In the pit of my stomach, jealousy burns me to the core. Since he walked in the first day, I didn’t like the way she watched him. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I was just seeing, um… I’ll go see if they need help.”
“Damn, Sugar. You’re not completely sweet. I like when the claws come out.” He closes the distance and pulls me into his arms. “I know you’re mad at me, but I need you.” His mouth comes down on mine, and all questions and retorts leave my brain as I slide my fingers upward over his shoulders and then into his hair.
He releases my mouth, growling, “Fuck. So sweet.” I think he’s going to back away, but before I know it I’m off my feet and he carries me into my office. My ass lands on the desk and then his hands cup my face. “There’s much to discuss, but I need another taste.” We kiss until I finally push him away and take a deep breath.
“Sorry, Ivy.”
“What was that about?”
“I thought it was obvious.”
“Yes, but I thought this wasn’t about the debt.”
“Kissing you is what I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw you step out onto the floor. None of my attraction has anything to do with the debt. Fuck—if anything, it’s a hinderance. Your stepfather deserves to meet the end of my gun, but I won’t hurt you like that.” Did he just say he was going to kill my stepfather? I should be pissed about it, but I’m not. In fact, I almost feel relieved.
With my arms crossed, I stare at Niccolò, attempting to read him as I ask, “Um… so what was Ella doing back here?”
“Who is that?”
Is he fucking serious? I glare at him and repeat his words back to him. “Who is that? My employee who was just in here, staring at you intently.”
“Oh, her. She said she wanted to learn how to take inventory, and honestly, I forgot she was even in the room. Everyone can tell you that when I work, my focus is hard to break. Well, except where you’re concerned. I can’t think when you’re nearby. Hell, I fucking can’t concentrate when you’re not close.”