Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I won’t force you to choose marriage, flower,” he whispers and moves closer as my tongue rolls down this thumb and my lips pull back only for him to press it in deeper again. “I won’t make the decision for you. But if you do put on that ring, I won’t hold back. If we’re going to survive going back in New York and all the insanity that will follow from the fallout, I will treat you like my woman. Like my real woman.”
I pull back with a moan. “Is this how you’ll keep me under control? Keep me barefoot, wearing dirty clothes?”
“I’ll slide my fingers between your lips and make you suck them before I roll them down between your legs. I’ll do a lot of things to you, flower. I’ll ruin you, if you let me, and you’ll love every second of it.”
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine and it’s like a bomb explodes, and I’m shoving myself at him, kissing him hard like I’ve lost my mind, because for a second I’ve gone insane and the only thing I want in the world is this man to rip my clothes off and prove to me that he’s not full of shit, that he really can make me feel something good for once. It’s been months of horror and fear and sorrow and maybe, just maybe, this man can ease some of that burden. Maybe he’s right, and I am worth it.
The way he kisses is enough to know he can do so much more if I let him.
If I put on his ring.
His taste is grass and sweat, his tongue is soft but firm, and his lips are like heaven. I lose myself in that kiss, moaning into his mouth, wondering if this is the last little bit of pleasure I’ll ever have in my life—before I make my final decision.
Because either way, whether I choose the ring or the bullet, I’m dead.
It’ll be like dying, no matter what.
I marry him and it’s like I give myself up completely.
I’ll have to do things, and some part of me wants that.
To give myself to him.
If dying feels like this, like his lips against mine and his fist in my hair and his hard body dominating mine, then maybe I can die happy.
Slowly, the kiss breaks apart. I’m breathing fast like we’re back down on the sand. I’m intensely aware of the inadequacy of my tank top and the tension of his fingers in my hair and the smell of him, musky and spicy and delicious, and the way my head’s spinning with desire and hate, yes, there’s hate still screaming in the back of my head, this man murdered Perico. I can’t let myself forget all the hell Luca’s dragged me through in the last couple days, and all the hell his family forced on me and everyone I’ve ever known.
It’s a confusing, muddied maelstrom of conflicting desires, wanting to be dominated on the one hand, wanting to get away on the other, and I don’t know which side of me is going to win out.
Or if I lose no matter what I choose.
“Luca!”
A male voice makes me jump. Luca frowns and looks over my shoulder, toward the house. He releases my hair and I step back, pushing my strap back into place and hugging myself so that he can’t see how stiff my nipples are right now. I’m blushing like crazy and I stare at the ground, afraid to look at him right in the eye, afraid of what his men might think.
“Luca.” The youngest member of his group jogs over. “You got a call.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s your father.”
Luca releases a soft grunt and strides away. “Put her back in the room and lock the door.”
I watch him go and wonder if my time’s finally up.
Chapter 6
Luca
“You don’t sound happy to hear from me, son.” Papa’s voice is low and raspy and weak like he just woke from a deep sleep.
That’s very unlike my father. He’s a mafia don, which means he’s distinctly aware of appearances. If he seems weak, that means he is weak—and if he seems strong, no matter what, that means he’s strong. Calling me now, right after a surgery when he’s weak, that means he doesn’t give a fuck if he sounds sleepy or soft, because he has something important to say.
All these calculations apply to everyone in his life, including his own damn son.
And thanks to him, I’m always doing the same thing, checking over my shoulder, thinking about how my actions make me seem—that’s part of why I had to shoot Fio back in Greece. I couldn’t let him get away with disrespecting me or my woman.
It’s also why going back home with Kacia on my arm is going to be hell.