Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
"Where is my teacher?" I ask as I turn to regard him. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans which hug his muscled thighs. The button up he's wearing is a charcoal gray that seems to be painted onto his broad frame. I swallow past the lump in my throat when he looks at me as if he's about to devour me.
"You're coming with me today," he announces. "Put some sweats on, I'm not taking you out with nothing but those fucking tights.' His hungry glare drinks me in, eating me up from head to toe.
"But—"
"Did I give you an option?" he questions, his teeth clenching with frustration, his jaw ticking, and his hands fisting at his sides. I know if I push further, if I nudge just a little more, he'll lose control.
Do I want him to?
Yes. Of course.
But I have a feeling where we're going, it has nothing to do with our relationship, or the unbidden desire between us.
"So, are you going to ignore what happened between us? Do you think the note you left was sufficient explanation?" I ask because my curiosity has been through the roof since that night. And finally having Enzo before me has me on edge. The look of disbelief on his face is clear. My retort has his expression painted with guilt and something I can’t quite put my finger on—frustration perhaps.
His note didn’t give away much of his thoughts, that he did feel the need to leave one. A man doesn’t drop a note on the pillow if there aren’t emotions involved. Surely. I am certain I wasn’t the only one affected by our encounter. The thought makes me smile. Because I want to, no, I need to make him feel something.
"We're about to go to my warehouse," he answers. "You'll see me torture and possibly kill a man, perhaps once I’m through, we can talk about how your tight little pussy drenched my fingers."
For a moment, I'm confused as to why he's taking me with him, but I don't question it, instead, I nod. "Fine, I'll change." I rush into my bedroom and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. I slip into my sneakers and race back down to find Enzo in the kitchen.
He's swallowing back a shot of espresso when I stop at the counter and stare at him. When those cocoa eyes land on me, he arches a dark eyebrow, and takes in my outfit.
"Ready?"
I nod slowly, still nervous, and unsure of why he's taking me with. "Yeah," is all I manage before we're out the door and heading to the garage. In the car, the silence hangs heavily, reminding me that this isn't some fun outing, we're going to a place that holds death in its grip.
Enzo doesn't speak, neither does Mario and it sets me on edge. My stomach twists, and my hands are sweaty. I swipe them down my thighs, but it doesn't help. I'm about to slide them under my legs when Enzo grabs one, his fingers wrap around mine, and he pulls my palm to his lap.
I'm shocked speechless, but the look on Mario's face screams, I told you so. And my cheeks heat as I realize he obviously knows his best friend far better than I know my fiancé. The only question that now hangs in the balance is, have I managed to make the king fall?
Chapter 19
Luna
Violence.
Destruction.
The fall of a man who wronged a mafia family.
As we walk into the warehouse, Mario behind me, and Enzo leading us, my stomach twists with anticipation, anxiety, and something akin to fear. The whispers I've eavesdropped on while growing up was enough to give me nightmares, but I never once witnessed what my father did to the men who disobeyed him.
The moment the rest of the men see me, silence hangs heavily in the enormous warehouse. I can feel their judgement as to why Enzo brought me here today. I want them to know I'm here because I am marrying their boss, but I stay silent, knowing my place by his side should be done in silence.
"Ciao," Enzo greets as he walks past each of the suits who stand with their spines straight and their jaws ticking with frustration at my presence. "My fiancée wanted to see the work I do," he says, causing me to snap my gaze toward him. This was his idea. Bastard. "She needs to learn how this life works and I trust you will respect her, as you do me."
"Si, of course. You know we will always respect your wishes; we are Familia," one of the men says. His dark hair is peppered with silver and his eyes have crow’s feet at the edges. He regards me with charcoal gray eyes, the color of storm clouds as they descend, but he doesn't speak to me.