Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
My whole family is here though. Davide and Stefania, both of them in stunning and elegant evening outfits and wearing gold-and-silver devil horns, are talking quietly to each other in the main room. Simon and Emily, plus Jeremy and his nanny, haven’t been apart for more than ten seconds, while my mother lurks nearby. Dad didn’t come, but no shock there. Elena’s husband, Brody, is busy with his family’s affairs, though he sent his best regards and bought one of my pieces, how generous, while Angelo is practically glued to Claudia’s hip. He hasn’t approached me yet tonight, and I can’t blame him. I’m pretty sure I’d bite his face off.
But they’re all here, minus my asshole father. Even though I can be difficult and mean, they keep showing up to support me, again and again. Simon may be controlling and sort of a prick, but at least he gives a crap, and so does everyone else, and all this time I’ve been pushing them away as hard as I can, because I don’t know how to do relationships.
And yet looking at them, especially at Davide, poor, scarred, broken Davide, I realize maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. They figured it out—they found their perfect partner—while I’ve been hiding away in my basement working on my sculptures and trying to keep my issues at bay. Instead of facing them head-on and coming to grips with what happened to me, I turned inward, and nothing changed. I made some good art, that’s nice, but I didn’t grow.
I want to grow. I want to be better. I need to be better, not just for myself, but for my family too. Guilt hammers into me, guilt for the very first time in a very long time, and I make a promise to myself, a solemn promise that I’m not going to break.
After this, I’ll be better to my family. I’ll treat them how they deserve to be treated. Even Simon, that fucking asshole.
“There you are, baby. I’ve been looking for you all night.”
I go very still. A chill runs down my spine and my heart rate doubles. I’m standing near the back hall in a dark little corner, observing the room, and the voice is coming from my left. I don’t want to look; I have to turn around.
Jackal lingers at my elbow, close enough to touch.
God, yes, it’s him. That mask, with the big ears and the gold details, and those beautiful gray eyes. It’s Jackal, and it’s also Marco. Both of my men are here, just like I knew they would be. I turn toward him, fighting the need to throw my arms around him, rip his mask off, and kiss him like I’ve been dreaming about kissing him for days now.
“I knew you’d show up,” I whisper, and I can’t believe it when my voice cracks. How did I get this emotional? What did this man do to me? Whatever it is, I love it. I really love it.
“You think I could stay away?” He touches my arm. It’s a small touch, almost appropriate, almost normal. Except it means everything.
“I want to tackle you and kiss you until your face bleeds.”
“And I want to strip you right there on top of one of your sculptures and lick you until you scream.”
“God, you’re so fucked up. Would you blindfold me first? Spank me?”
“Tie your ankles together until you’re helpless, then make you choose how I hurt you first.”
I shiver, my body tingling at the thought of playing a game with him again. “I missed you.”
“I’m here now.” His touch on my arm tightens into something possessive. “But we don’t have much time.”
“They’re coming, aren’t they?”
He nods slowly, not taking his eyes off me. I’m not sure he can right now, and I know for sure I couldn’t glance back at the crowd even if a screaming naked man on fire came running through the room.
“I don’t know the details,” he says urgently. “They iced me out and Valentina wouldn’t tell me. Ronan stopped taking my calls after I called him a fucking cocksucker and tried to talk him out of this again.”
“You’re so diplomatic.”
“Fuck being diplomatic. I’ve been charming and diplomatic for far too fucking long and I’m tired of it.” He moves closer, his voice pitching lower. “I’m taking what I want now, and I don’t give a fuck what the consequences are.”
I stare at him and have to bite my lip to keep myself from screaming his name. Jackal. Marco. My men. Everything I need.
A figure separates itself from the crowd. I turn, surprised, as Angelo approaches. His mask covers the left half of his face, painted white, blue, gold, and red.
He stops a few feet away. Jackal doesn’t release my arm, and I don’t try to pull away. Angelo’s face is tense and pained, not very well hidden. “This is him, isn’t it?” he asks, looking between us, before settling his gaze on me. “This is Marco.”