Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I practically run from the room, my heart pounding. But it’s not my life I fear for. It’s hers. Not my wife—my niece. It’s Arria. There’s no telling what Dominic is going to do now.
CHAPTER 15
ARRIANA
“Why would he be at my party?” I question, pacing up and down in front of the couch, the photo clutched in my hand.
Mom and Dad sit side by side like they’re the kids and I’m the parent, chastened as I scold them. There’s clear panic on their faces. Part of me feels terrible but screw that. They’ve been lying to me for years.
“He’s a mobster. At the same party, there were loads of guys who were mobsters, too. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s going on here, and it’s not good.”
Dad sighs and leans forward. “Arria, what makes you think he’s a mobster? Where are you getting this information?”
“How is that the point?” I hiss. “I know you’re hiding something. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m not a little kid anymore. I can see that you’re both withholding the truth. Just be honest, please. For once.”
My phone buzzes. I check it. It’s Nico.
Nico: Where are you?
Me: At home. Why?
Nico: I’m coming to see you right now. Lock the doors. Don’t answer it to anybody.
I rush to the front door, lock it, then go to the back door and do the same. Dad follows me. “What are you doing?” he demands.
“Uncle Nico just texted me. He told me to lock all the doors. I guess it has something to do with the fact that our family has never, at any point, had anything to do with the mob, right?”
“Why is he texting you?” Dad asks. “Why wouldn’t he text me?”
I fold my arms, glaring. Dad’s got a look of suspicion on his face, which is pissing me the hell off. As if he has any right to be suspicious and judgmental after all the lies they’ve told me. But I can see it. He suspects something about me and my uncle.
“Well, Dad, if you know nothing about the mob—which you apparently don’t—why would he text you?”
Another text.
Nico: Are there any unusual cars parked outside?
I go to the front window. Mom is on her feet, pacing, muttering to herself as if she’s on the verge of a breakdown. I almost feel bad again, but I can’t go there and let guilt mess with me.
Me: Not that I can see. It looks normal.
Nico: Okay, I’ll be there soon.
“Nico is coming here,” I tell Mom and Dad.
They exchange another of their secretive looks. Mom whispers, “She’s not a little girl anymore, Rocco.”
Dad drops into his seat, rubbing his hands up and down his face as he groans. “If there are things we haven’t told you, it’s always been for your own good.”
“Okay, fine,” I reply. “But that’s not the case anymore. So tell me—why were mafia guys at my birthday party?”
“I used to work with them,” Dad mutters. “I’m not proud of it. I got into debt with them when I tried to start my accountancy business. To pay the debt, I did their books. I was never in, in. I only did the boring stuff. The paperwork.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s shameful,” Dad says fiercely. “I never wanted to be involved. Initially, I never wanted to befriend them outside of work or invite them to parties, but since they invite themselves to functions, what choice did I have? I couldn’t tell them no. That would be the equivalent of spitting in their faces. When I paid my debt, I left.”
“Then why bring us back?” I ask.
“I guess I thought we could come home and leave it all behind us. I don’t owe the mob anything now. I didn’t expect you to…” Dad narrows his eyes. “What made you look into this, Arriana?”
Uh oh. He’s using the full version of my first name, which means he’s going into parenting mode. It looks like the one-way interrogation is over. “Does it have something to do with Nico?”
“Nico?” Mom says, stopping her pacing and staring at me.
“They’ve been texting,” Dad says, somehow making it sound like one of the worst things we could ever do.
“Texting…” Mom looks at me, searching. “About what?”
“I’m helping one of his pro bono kids with some photography stuff,” I tell them. Technically, that isn’t a lie. But it’s misleading. If they looked at the texts—which I’d never let them do—they’d see they began way before I met Destiny.
“Did he mention something about the mob?” Dad asks.
Before I can answer, the doorbell rings. I rush to the front door, my heart fluttering with joy. It speeds up when I see Nico standing at our front door through the peephole, somehow making him even more imposing. He stares hard with those startling green eyes of his.