Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Lexi lowers her voice. “The Marino crime Family. The mob. He’s a powerful man, but apparently, the Marinos have a code of honor. They’re not bad people unless they’ve got a problem with you.”
“The mob,” I murmur, thinking of the class I’m taking on the history of organized crime. “I suppose they perform some Good-Samaritan-type deeds, then?”
“You even speak like you’re writing an essay.” Lexi laughs.
“But… do they?”
“Yeah, actually, they do. A friend of a friend started her salon business with their help.”
I nod, hoping I come across as casual. Lexi can always read me, but I don’t need her reading this. An idea spins over and over in my head. With this problem hanging over me—bullying, blackmail, threats—a Good Samaritan is just what I need. However, my belly tightens with nerves just thinking about approaching him.
We go on with our workout, but I make sure to know where Luca Marino is. He’s in the free-weights section, pressing dumbbells twice the size of my head. Other men grunt and make loud look-at-me noises, but Luca lifts quietly, intensely, teeth gritted, like he’s fighting his own personal demons.
CHAPTER 2
Luca
A sober life makes a man angrier, but it has its benefits. It lets a man see clearer, too. It allows me to see that all that drinking and partying was just empty, hollow crap. It was a waste of time. It was a waste, full stop, but I’ve got to admit. Smiling was easier back then.
I listen to “Nessun Dorma” from Turandot by Giacomo Puccini on repeat. Elio was surprised when I asked him for some classical suggestions. I cocked a smirk at him, all jokes. “I’m a new man, bro.” But inside, a fire’s raging. It has been for almost a year, ever since I found out about Mom’s cheating. I’ve taken over the business’s main operations, giving my big brother the break he deserves after so many years of hard work.
After my set, I drop the dumbbells. Across from me, a teenage boy is talking to two swollen steroid heads. There’s something about the way they’re standing, sneering down at the kid, that pisses me off. I reach up, click the side of my Bluetooth headphones, pausing the music.
“How many sets?” Steroid Head Number One snaps, a bald pitbull-looking bastard with a clumsily tattooed heart on his throat.
“Uh…” The kid looks like he’s ready to cry. “I don’t know. A fuh-few.”
“A few,” Steroid Head Number Two repeats. He’s a douche wearing a tank top that might as well be a bra to show off his pumped-up muscles. He looks around at the benches, all occupied except for the kid’s. “A few.”
“But… it’s okay.” The kid moves as if to stand up.
“Do your sets, kid,” I tell him.
All three of them look over at me. “What’d you say?” the tattooed one snaps.
I stand up slowly. I look at him honestly, which means I look at him like I’m ready to fight. I want a fight. A tense atmosphere has fallen over the free-weights area. “I told him to do his sets.”
The men look at each other. “We were just asking…”
“No, you were gonna bully this kid into giving up the bench because you think a few gym muscles make you dangerous men. So, you can either puff yourself up and say some silly words to me, or you can have some goddamn decency and wait until he’s done.”
I see their urge to do just that—puff up and act tough, but they’re not complete idiots. They can see how serious I am. They’re not fighters. They’re not killers.
“Just relax,” Steroid Head Number Two says. “Jeez.”
The kid gives me a tight smile, and I return to my workout.
After another set, I sit up and look in the mirrors which cover the entire wall. Two women walk by, and my life changes. I feel it like a wrenching in my gut. I feel like somebody is throwing a party in my brain and heart. I bite down, trying to get a grip on myself.
One of the women is so damn captivating I don’t even understand it. Maybe this is how Elio felt when he first saw Scarlet. I never understood that until this moment.
She’s probably around twenty, her long brown silky hair in soft waves, her bangs pulled over her forehead and partially over her eyes like she’s shy and wants to hide how beautiful she is. Most women here wear booty shorts and revealing clothes, but she has heavy sweats and a hoodie. Yet, somehow, she’s the sexiest, most beautiful woman here.
Something about her hair makes me want to push it from her face. “You don’t have to be shy with me.” I’m going nuts, clearly, but I don’t give a damn. There’s this pulsing heat in me. There’s this sudden, certain purpose. They go to a machine. The shy woman sits down and starts her workout. Her sweats hug her thick hips, stirring my dick, my hunger. I want to sink my hands into her curviness. Tear off those sweats, bite her creamy fullness, taste her, and own her.