Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
I settle on the bed and decide to start with the truth of who I am. “My dad is…he’s Marco Rossi.”
Recognition flickers across his face. My dad isn’t the most well-known mob boss in New York, but people still know his name. He has a reputation for being old-school. He believes in making money and keeping a low profile, not drawing attention to his dirty business dealings. “And you’re running from him.”
I nod and pick at one of the blankets on his bed, plucking at a loose string. “He promised me in marriage to Luis Bianchi.”
Trace growls when I tell him that.
His possessiveness makes me smile despite what we’re talking about. “He’s…not a nice guy. His first two wives have disappeared under mysterious circumstances, but the police can’t touch him.”
Everyone knows that Luis has a hand in his wives’ death. It’s no great secret, but the fact that nothing can be proved has kept him out of jail so far. Sometimes, innocent until proven guilty only makes the monsters bolder.
“I ran about a month before my wedding. The guards at my house have a weekly poker night, and I spiked their drinks. It wasn’t hard. Just used some of my dad’s old sleeping pills.”
“Fuck,” he breathes softly.
“The Bianchi Family won’t forgive the insult which means my dad will come for me,” I explain as I nibble on my thumbnail. “I fucked up. I fucked up big time, Trace. I don’t see a way out of this, and I don’t…I can’t stand the idea that you might be hurt.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll fix this.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, because the mob is known to be so forgiving.”
“Do you trust me?” He growls the words out.
I think of the way he handled the men that were selling him the car. He displayed no fear and sent them away. “I trust that you’ll do whatever it takes. I trust that you’ll always have my back. I don’t trust that you’re bulletproof. That’s what scares me.” I whisper the last part, “I can’t lose you. You’re my other half.”
“You won’t lose me. The difference between me and your father is he’s fighting for power, greed, and dominance. I’m fighting for the woman I love, and love is the strongest force on earth.”
I let out a slow breath. I hope he’s right. If he’s wrong, then we’re both going to die because I can’t live without him.
12
TRACE
“What do you think?” I ask as I push the new couch into position in the living room. It’s been a week since that night I explained to Molly she’s mine. She hasn’t tried to leave again since.
She surveys the gray couch with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. We finished removing all the scrap metal and now she’s focused on turning my little cabin into a home. She’s anxious a lot so I keep her busy and when that doesn’t work, well, orgasms are a hell of a relaxant.
In the meantime, I have Roman pulling up everything he can on the Rossi and Bianchi families. Bianchi went mysteriously missing three days ago. His number two is suspected of being behind that, but it’s not like anyone cares. The guy was hardly a saint. That just leaves Marco Rossi for me to deal with.
“I think we need some really cool artwork above it.” She beams up at me. “What if we check your shop? I bet you have something that would fit perfectly!”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her it seems pretentious to display my own work, but the look she gives me is filled with so much happiness that I find myself grabbing my keys and my phone.
She wants to learn to drive. Apparently, her father never let her drive or have a bank account or anything that might possibly lead her to become independent. The fact that he treated her like an object to be kept on a shelf until the time was right fills me with rage. She’s so smart and so curious about the world around her.
I wanted to add her name to my bank account and my property deed. But she talked me out of doing it. She pointed out that it would attract her father’s attention too early. She’s right but it burns in me that she’s still being controlled by that asshole.
When we’re at the workshop, she spends her time looking through my collection. She carefully fingers each one, running her fingers over the metal as though they’re precious to her. Finally, she selects one. It’s a silhouette of a cat on a throne, a nod to Princess. She holds it up triumphantly. “This is it!”
I smile at her enthusiasm. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes these days but she’s trying.