Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“He pissed me off.” I stare at the glass, at my own reflection. I look tired and angry. “I know we do plenty of fucked-up shit. We sell drugs, we extort, we blackmail. But there’s something about the scam call centers I fucking hate.”
“They’re big business.” Davide cocks his head. “But I agree with you. I don’t care that the fucker is dead in there, but you know Dad’s going to be pissed. He doesn’t want to provoke Uncle Santoro more than necessary.”
I grimace slightly at the way Davide calls him uncle. There’s a long, dark history between them, and I think part of the way his trauma manifests is through his stubborn refusal to drop the title. We all let it go, but sometimes it’s hard.
“Dad will survive. Santoro’s coming for us eventually whether we kill some of his people or not.”
“But now you’re speeding things up.” Davide shakes his head. In the distance, a siren wails. The employees must’ve called the cops. “Be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
I look at my brother and hold his gaze. “You have my back,” I say. It’s not a question, but he knows what it means.
When my dad first got injured, I took over as the Don. I was the one who got our revenge, who took the fight to Santoro. I was the one who marshaled the Famiglia and made sure blood flowed for what they did to our father. Except then Dad took over and he cooled things off, and ever since then, Davide and I have been waiting for the violence to come around again.
He knows Dad’s too weak to win this war. We love our father and want him to get better, but Davide can see the signs as clearly as I can. Our father isn’t the leader he used to be, but the Famiglia’s going to need a strong Don if it’s going to survive what’s coming.
I want to be sure I can trust my brother moving forward.
But it’s hard to know what he’ll really do. It’s one thing to push back against our father’s orders, and it’s another to back me over the old man. Even I find the idea distasteful; all my life, I’ve been nothing but a good, dutiful son, and a loyal, obedient soldier. Following orders is baked into my blood. The thought of doing anything against my father’s wishes—
It’s hard to imagine.
Slowly though, Davide nods. “I have your back,” he confirms. Then without another word, he stalks off to his car.
It should make me feel better, knowing that my brother understands what has to be done, but it doesn’t. I can only muster a vague sickness at the thought of Davide getting pulled into this mess.
I get behind the wheel and start to drive away from the sirens.
Chapter 20
Simon
I knock on Emily’s bedroom door, checking my watch. “It’s already past seven-thirty,” I say and knock again. “You were supposed to be ready by—”
She opens up and steps back, putting her hands on her hips, looking like she’s ready to kick me straight in the throat.
All my complaining dies on my lips.
My god, I don’t know how I got so lucky. Or maybe I got exceptionally unlucky, depending on how things go between us. I can’t say for sure, but either way, my wife is absolutely stunning.
I mean beautiful. Beyond beautiful. She’s alluring, fascinating, whatever adjective that means gorgeous. She’s all of those and more.
“What?” she asks, her cheeks turning pink, her annoyed expression fading. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m staring,” I confirm, really unable to help myself.
“Could you please stop?”
I shake my head. She’s wearing a black dress, relatively simple, about knee-length with a scoop neckline that shows just the top of her breasts. Heels make her look a couple inches taller. Her makeup is simple, and only a gold cross hangs at her neck, along with the earrings I gave her.
Stunning. Simple, unassuming, and absolutely incredible.
“If we didn’t have somewhere to be, I’d rip that outfit off you,” I say through my teeth.
Which makes her laugh. “First of all, I’d kick you in the dick if you tried. And second, you like the way I look too much to take it off.”
“You’re right. I’d leave the dress on as I fuck you.”
Her cheeks are crimson as she pushes past me. Her hand lingers on my chest. “Easy, boy,” she whispers. “And anyway, is this too much? You told me to look nice.”
“It’s perfect.” I grab her wrist and hold it for a second before I slide my hand into hers. “You look perfect.”
She seems surprised. Our fingers intertwined. She squeezes, and I squeeze back, and I’m tempted to smear her lipstick all over my mouth. I want to devour her, which is a problem, because I’m not supposed to touch her for another three months and three weeks—but who’s counting?