Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I understand, but you have goals, and I want to help you achieve them. It’s a balancing act.”
I reach out and put my hand on her thigh. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch away. She looks at me with a longing that breaks my fucking heart, because I know what she’s thinking.
She’s afraid of what she needs from me.
Well, princess, I’m not afraid of anything. Except for destroying you.
My eyes move along her lips and I want to tell her what I’m thinking—that I need her desperately, that when she’s not around I’m thinking about her—but when I open my mouth, I catch some motion nearby. Someone’s walking toward us from the parking lot, slowly angling in our direction. I frown, squinting, suddenly aware that I came out here without guards. Casso and the others know where we are but there aren’t any soldiers to back me up if something goes down. I dig my fingers into her leg as the man comes closer.
“Don’t move,” I say quietly, and she must sense my sudden anxiety.
“What’s wrong?”
I slowly get to my feet, doing my best not to use the cane, but I’m in pain and exhausted from the workout so I’m forced to lean on it. The man stops about ten yards away, standing in the full sun with a smile on his face, his black hair buzzed short against his pale skull. Tattoos poke up at his throat and cover both hands and knuckles. He’s wearing simple slacks and a white button-down rolled at the sleeves, revealing more ink. He’s got green eyes, bright enough that I can see them from here, and a short nose with stubble on his chin, slightly reddish in the sunlight.
“What the hell are you doing here, Cillian?” I call out, and Mirella sucks in a shocked breath.
She knows that name, Cillian. She’s heard it around the house. He’s the boogeyman, the leader of the coalition the Famiglia’s been fighting these last few months, ever since we wiped out the Federov bratva, but in the process we released a lot of pent-up resentment.
He holds up his hands, as if to show they’re empty.
“I come in peace, Fynn. Looks like you’re still recovering from your little bout with unconsciousness.”
“Healing every day.” I take a step closer, limping more than I’d like. I curse myself for leaving my gun behind. I don’t need my legs to blow this bastard’s skull to little pieces. “What are you doing here, Cillian? You here alone?”
“I’m not alone,” he says with a shrug. “But I left my men in the parking lot. I can call for them, if you’d like, but I thought you’d be more comfortable if I didn’t.” His eyes drift past me and fall on Mirella. I want to tear them from their sockets for daring to look at her. “Is this the girl you hired? I heard about her.”
I frown slightly, head tilted. “You heard about my—” I almost say physical therapist, but instead settle on, “fitness trainer?”
Nobody is supposed to know about Mirella. That’s the whole point of hiring her instead of a better-known doctor. The fact that Cillian’s aware of her sends a shiver down my spine and implies some things about the Famiglia I’d rather not investigate at the moment.
But if he knows the idea of me working with a fitness trainer right now is utterly absurd, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, there are lots of talk all over the city right now. Some are bullshit, some are not. She is one of the few rumors that happens to also be true.” He squints a bit. “I wanted to meet her. I wanted to see her.”
“You’ve seen her. Now fuck off.”
“Ah, come on, Fynn. I’m not here to start trouble. It’s just that, I’ve heard a lot of good things about her.” He raises his voice. “Hello, Mirella Falconet, how are you, dear? You might not realize it, but we know each other.”
Know each other? I go very still and glance back as she slowly gets to her feet. She seems as confused as I feel and hangs back behind me, gently touching my arm like she needs it for comfort and courage. I feel her nervous fear pulsing from her fingertips.
“I don’t think we do, actually,” she says, glancing at me with a frown. “Your name’s Cillian?”
“Cillian O’Shea, that’s right, but I doubt my name means much to you. And you won’t recognize my face, though I am very handsome and it’s hard to forget me when I give you my patented dazzling smile. No, dear, we know each other in a different way.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, trying not to snarl. I want to close the distance between us and beat him senseless with my cane, but I can’t underestimate Cillian. Besides, he freely admitted he’s not here alone and his men are nearby. One shout and his soldiers would be here in a heartbeat, and they’d murder me dead and finish off Mirella as I’m bleeding on the ground.