Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 47626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
“If I have it my way, never.” I can see in her eyes that she wants to believe me but in her mind she thinks her father is the most powerful. Maybe if I tell her the truth, it will help her relax. “Come to me, Piccola.” I open my arms for her and sit on the chair. The minute she is in front of me I pull her onto my lap and snuggle into her neck, inhaling her honey and chamomile shampoo and soap. She melts into me, and I know. I know I was meant to protect her, forever. “Have you heard of the DeSantis Family?” Her body riles up and she nods her head. “Tell me what you know of them.”
“I only know from eavesdropping on my father’s meeting sometimes. When he speaks of them I can hear the fear in his voice. He says they are the most powerful mafia family in the majority of the east coast. But they allied with the man who owns the rest of the U.S.” I nod my head at how accurate her description is. “Why do you ask?” I move her hair from her neck and impulsively, I kiss her there allowing my tongue one swipe before I pull back. I hear the very faint mewl from her throat but as fast as it came it was gone.
“Well, Piccola, that is who I work for. I work for Giulia DeSantis directly. She is based out of New York, but my home is in Miami on the compound of her cousin Aurora who is the Dona of Miami.” She gasps before turning to look at me.
“Is it true she slices off the heads of men with a sword and feeds them to crocodiles under the ground?” Well shit! I throw my head back and laugh like I have never done. When I look down, amusement all over my face, Satine’s mouth is open, obviously surprised I can laugh.
“Yes it is true.” I sober up and my mind is once again plotting. I am praying she lets me keep her without me being next.
Eight
Satine
Three Days Later
Iam still trying to get my head wrapped around who his boss is. I have even googled her a few times and besides a couple of pictures of her out and about with her sisters before all of the murders, there is nothing. I can say this, she is beautiful in a dark, menacing sort of way.
Men in my country whisper about her like she is the boogeyman. I have watched men pale, from a far of course when my father would say that she took someone out. I don’t know her, and to be honest I don’t know that I want to, but, I admire the fear she puts into men.
Larabee and I spent the morning eating breakfast and then we played a Phase 10 tournament. The winner gets to pick the coffee of the day which is a big deal because that is the one thing we argue over. He loves manly dark, strong coffee. I like the sweet and dainty cappuccinos. He won’t try mine and I won’t try his. I won. I am not entirely sure he didn’t let me win, but it doesn't matter. He has to drink girly coffee.
The rest of the day is calm and sort of quiet. Larabee spends most of the time in an office, hushed muted conversation that I am used to. The saving grace in this situation is that a few hours ago the books, movies, clothes and espresso machine I ordered arrived.
I was so happy for the clothes because I have been walking around in his shirts since I have been here and even though I love having the smell of him wrapped around me, I want to put on clothes and start trying to feel like me. Once I get everything opened and situated, I take the clothes into the room and jump in the shower. For the first time since I got here, I close my eyes and the monster in my head is replaced with Larabee. I can feel his mouth on my neck like it was earlier. My nipples begin to harden, and I can’t stop myself from slowly rubbing my soapy hands over them. “Oh,” I whisper at how sensitive they are. I stop immediately, guilt washing over me, because should I be feeling anything resembling happiness right now? And is it happiness or gratitude?
I still wake up screaming, thrashing about, disoriented. Sometimes I walk around, scratching my arms, itching for another shot, but it is a far cry from where I was. I can tell I am still detoxing because I wake up drenched, from head to toe. I asked the doctor about when he came for a checkup yesterday and he told me it was normal and a good sign. Apparently my body is expelling the drugs. Tentatively, I ask him if he knows what they gave me and as expected, it was heroin.