Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I didn’t say that,” I protest, but I’m unsure what I feel. “I’ve just never spoken to a killer before.” My voice trembles.
“It’s okay. I understand. I just wanted you to know the truth.”
“Is that who cornered me, then? A gang member?”
“There’s a group called the Gallos moving in on our turf,” he says, nodding. “They’ve been lacing drugs with TNT. It’s a super-strong opioid that’s led to at least fifty ODs that we know of. I thought we beat the bastards, but one remains. Soon, he’ll be out of circulation, too.”
“Out of circulation?” I murmur.
“Do you really need me to explain?” he counters, his tone darkening.
I swallow, shaking my head. “No, I get it. I guess it’s just surprising how casual you sound about it. How many …”
When I trail off, he narrows his eyes, watching me closely. “How many people have I killed? That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I admit.
His eyes seem to glaze over momentarily, like he’s reliving all the chaos and the pain. Then he says, “Thirteen. Nine were rival gang members. The other four deserved it, at least by my morals. They all laid their hands on women or children.”
“And all of yours were …”
He stands up, fists clenched, staring down at me like he’s about to snap. “What?”
“I didn’t even finish the question.”
“You were going to ask if any of my victims were women or children.” When I don’t reply, he snaps, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I bolt to my feet, passion making my cheeks glow red. “I have to know. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to …”
I trail off. What was I going to say? Love you. Want you. Need you. My mind sparks with impossible, crazy thoughts, havoc, and madness. Clearly, I’m letting the stress, fear, and everything else affect me too much.
“They were all men,” he growls. “I’d never do that. I’d never …” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you know now. You don’t deserve to be kept in the dark. You deserve the truth, and now you have it.”
He walks toward the door quickly, his shoulders broad, his breathing coming so huskily and passionately it’s like he’s about to erupt into a roar. When he slams the door, the whole house trembles. I bring my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly.
Did he seriously storm out because I asked him a reasonable question? Does he honestly think he has the right to do that after he pulled me into his mess?
Looking at myself in the reflection of the switched-off TV, I can’t help but note how small and vulnerable I look. It’s like I’m waiting for him to return, move up behind me, wrap me in his strong arms, and whisper that everything will be okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MATTEO
“Even a Don needs to sleep,” my father told me once. “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could just work and work and keep working. That’s what I am, son—a workhorse for the Family. It’s the way it has to be, but without sleep, a man grows dull. A man forgets what’s important. A man won’t be able to do what’s needed when the time comes.”
I sit up in bed, glancing at the clock. It’s almost three a.m. I can’t stop thinking about the conversation with Bella—the look on her face when I told her the truth wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t complete acceptance, either. It was something in between as if she couldn’t figure out how she was supposed to feel.
Grabbing my phone, I go to our text conversation. When she asked me—or almost asked me—if I’d ever killed a woman or a child, something snapped in me. The idea of her thinking that made me feel sick. The thought of it was—is—grotesque to me. I can’t believe she’d even entertain it.
But why not? I’m a stranger to her. She’s a stranger to me, even if it stopped feeling like that much too soon.
I have to know. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to …
That’s what she said, but then she trailed off, leaving my imagination to fill in the gaps. It’s not like my imagination is always a happy, optimistic place.
What were you going to say? I text.
Maybe she’s asleep. She won’t get in until the morning, anyway. I know I won’t be able to rest until I’ve at least tried. Soon, the text goes from delivered to read, making my heartbeat pick up and race. I imagine her sitting in the large bed, silk sheets wrapped around her perfect, thick legs, her lips pouting as she stares at my message.
Huh?
I smirk, shaking my head. So she’s going to play it coy, then. She’ll pretend she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Or maybe I’m putting more significance on that unfinished sentence than she ever did.