Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I glare up at him, but what other choice do I have? Maybe it’s a naïve reason, but after kissing him, after being intimate with him, I’m convinced he’s not tricking me.
“Promise me you’ll find her,” I say, stepping forward, close enough so we’re almost touching.
“I’ve lived too long in this city to make promises like that,” he replies.
“No,” I almost yell. I grab his arms and squeeze him tightly like I was minutes ago, except this is an entirely different kind of passion. “You have to promise. You have to. I can’t lose Mom.”
He swallows, leans down, and brushes his lips against my cheek. Then he finds my lips. We kiss, the steaminess tempting me to melt against him, forgetting about the heartache, stress, and doubt. I want to forget about Mom and Dad and just be with Elio.
Pushing against his chest, I lean away. “Promise me.”
He sighs darkly. “I promise, Scarlet. I’ll find her, but I’m not risking you. Pack a bag. Now.”
I turn away, leaving the room. In my bedroom, as I pack my ratty old suitcase—the one I used to dream about filling with clothes for college—it’s like I’m watching myself. I’m in the corner of the room, watching this scared woman get ready to go and live with the mafia boss and his parents. It’s almost too surreal for me to take seriously.
Once I’ve stuffed some clothes into the suitcase, I carry it into the living room. Elio is on the phone, pacing up and down. “That’s right. No. Just sit tight and tell me if anybody comes by. Yeah, exactly. Easy work.”
He hangs up, turning to me. “Ready?”
“I think so,” I murmur. “It’s just…”
He walks over to me, so huge, so experienced. It’s crazy to think how steamy we were getting not that long ago. He takes the suitcase from me, holding it with one hand. With the other, he brushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“Just what?” he asks.
“This… everything… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”
“You don’t have to worry,” he says. “I’m going to make this right. Let’s go.”
“What about your men? Don’t they need us here to let them in?”
“No,” Elio says. “Locks aren’t really a problem for us.”
He leads me from the apartment. My head is spinning. Can I trust him? But it’s too late for questions like that.
I lock the door behind us, and then he leads me down the stairs. He keeps his hand on my back, warm tingles flowing up and down my body. Despite everything—the tears, the stress, the wondering—I still feel myself smiling as he pushes against me. I forcibly wipe the smile away a moment later. I can’t get involved in some impossible, dreamy romance when Mom and Dad are missing.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he tells me, as if reading my mind.
“How can you be sure of that?” I ask.
“Because I made a promise.”
“And you never break your promises?”
Before we walk onto the street, he turns to me, staring down with those intense eyes. I still can’t believe what we just did. What were we going to do if that book never fell off the shelf? We would’ve gotten even steamier. Maybe I would’ve had to tell him just how inexperienced I am. All the while, Mom would be out there, somewhere, lost in the city.
“Not to you,” Elio says, brushing hair from my face again. Already, it’s one of my favorite things that he does.
He takes my hand. We approach his car. It looks out of place on this street. It’s a sleek, dark car with tinted windows. It’s not flashy with outlandish rims or anything like that, but it looks far too expensive. He opens the trunk, puts my suitcase inside, and then nods to the passenger seat.
“Get in.”
Somehow, another smile touches my lips. “Are you always this bossy?”
He smirks. “You must bring it out in me.”
Again, I wipe the smile away, pulling the door open and climbing into the car. Every smile is a betrayal.
“I should be ashamed,” I mutter once he starts the engine.
“Why?” he asks, pulling away from the parking spot.
“When Dad walked out, I thought nothing of it. It’s so normal. It’s just something he does. Honestly, sometimes, when he walks out, I wish he wouldn’t come back. That’s not something I’m proud of.”
“I understand,” Elio says.
“What? You can imagine thinking that about your own dad, too?”
“No,” Elio snaps. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then how do you understand?” I say, matching his intensity.
“From what you’ve told me about your dad, he’s nothing like mine. Before the stroke, my dad was tough, sure. He was strict. He valued discipline above almost everything else, but he could also be kind. I’ve never had to wonder if my dad cared about me. Well, until recently.”