Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
My stomach draws tight. “Take care of things? What does that mean?”
“Let me worry about the details.”
“Are you going to kill someone?” I ask, hating how my voice trembles. “That lieutenant?”
“Why? Are you worried I’ll eliminate your ally?”
A sigh catches in my throat. “Are we back to that again? I told you the truth.”
His gaze drills into mine. “Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know why you even bother to ask. You’re just going to believe what you want to.”
He drops his hand, disappointment creeping into his features. I don’t know why that makes me so angry. So sad. Whether he believes me or not shouldn’t matter.
“This is how it’s going to be,” he says, his manner resigned.
I swallow. “Like what?”
He stares at me for a beat before he delivers his verdict. “We’ll never be on the same side.”
I also don’t know why that hits me so hard, why I feel like he’s stolen my breath when he turns around and walks away.
For a week.
For however long he chooses.
And there’s nothing I can do about anything.
He goes inside and closes the door behind him, leaving me in the brilliant, cold sun, letting me stand here alone and wish for something I can’t name, only knowing I feel like crying.
Yes, I suppose we are who we are. No matter what I say or do, he’ll never be able to look at me and not hate me. I’ll never be able to look at him and not see my dad’s killer.
It’s that damn hamster wheel again.
Turning my back to the doors, I catch the tears that slip free with my fingers. I swallow them with my morning coffee, pushing everything down and locking my feelings away with the storms in my chest. It’s a coping mechanism, the only way I know how to exist.
When my mug is empty and I go back inside, my features are schooled, and my back is straight. Not a trace of the turmoil inside me is visible on my face. I keep that part to myself, because I won’t give Angelo my pain. Monsters feed on pain. It only makes them stronger. Happier.
Heidi enters with a tray just as I’m taking off my coat.
“Good morning.” She places the tray on the coffee table and offloads a plate heaped with bacon and eggs. “I made you an English breakfast. You can do with the protein.”
“Thank you, but you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Croissants would’ve been fine.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” She sets a glass of orange juice and a basket of toast on the coffee table. “Come sit down. Eat before it gets cold.”
Grateful for her effort, I sit down in the chair she pulls out.
“Do you feel like anything special for lunch?” she asks, leaving the tray on the mantlepiece.
“No, thank you.”
She sighs. “Your appetite will return.” Fluffing out one of the sofa cushions, she continues, “Traveling always messes up the metabolism. If you have any cravings, you just have to shout.”
“Thanks,” I say again. “I appreciate that.” Picking up the fork, I ask carefully, “Has he left?”
“Yes.” Her smile is soft. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back as soon as he can. The business is always demanding.”
I want to say I didn’t ask because I’ll miss him, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. She knows how things are between us. There’s no point in reminding her.
Popping a piece of bacon into my mouth, I enjoy the crispy texture and salty taste. After the sandwiches in the house that lacks a stove or microwave, a warm meal on such a cold morning is welcome. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite.
Heidi rearranges the cushions, not seeming in a hurry to leave. I welcome her presence, but I don’t want to keep her from her work.
I load my fork with the fluffy eggs. “I appreciate the company, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
She shifts her weight. “That’s all right. I’ll wait. That way, I can take the tray back when you’re done.”
Her discomfort gives me pause. Then it clicks. She’s not hanging around to make conversation or to take back the empty tray.
The delicious food turns sour in my stomach. “Did he tell you to check that I eat?”
A flush works its way up her neck. “Mr. Russo is just worried about your health. He wants to make sure you eat enough to sustain you.” She doesn’t meet my eyes when she adds, “These last few days have been strenuous. He’s worried you’re losing weight.”
He’s no doubt only worried that the breeding machine won’t be effective.
Having lost my appetite, I put down the fork.
“Sabella,” she says in a beseeching tone, sitting opposite me. “Don’t let that spoil your hunger. You need your strength. His intentions are good.”