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)
"I think this girl is getting to you, Boss," Mario says, and I can tell he's happy about it because his grin says everything. As we got older and reached a certain age, girls had become a focus for us, but I never once had a relationship. Nothing ever lasted longer than a few weeks at best.
"My father wanted this for me," I tell them both. "Instead of fighting it, I may as well embrace it. He chose this girl, and I need to know why."
"Maybe the answer lies in the office," Mario suggests gently. The sore spot for me is that room which I'm certain will always smell like death. Perhaps the blood that had stained the carpet will always be there. Maybe it's seeped into the floorboards.
"Once the party is over, I want a decorator to come in and completely redo the office," I tell Mario. "I want everything ripped out, right down to the shell, but not before I bring each man in there. I want them to sit in the space and absorb just what happened to Salvatore." My father's name on my lips tastes bitter, my chest tightening when I think about him. The ache will never go away, and I realize now, that's exactly what Luna is going through.
"Yes, Boss," Mario says, already on his feet with Thiago following behind. "I'll be in touch. Saturday?"
"Yes, we'll have the party on Saturday. Let's call it an engagement party for my new bride and me." They both nod, knowing smiles on their faces as they leave me to ponder which man could possibly be the one working for Tommaso. Perhaps our ghost will pay us a visit.
I pick up my phone and call the boutique which my mother owned. Two rings and the manager answers in her thick Italian accent. "Buon giorno."
"Silvia," I greet the older woman. "I need a dress for my fiancée, something..."
"Elegante?" she suggests.
"Si, and sexy," I inform her.
"Si, I can do this for you, send me the size and color. Delivery to your home, signore."
"Per favor, Silvia, grazie," I tell her before hanging up. I open an email and send her the photos of Luna, including her dress size, as well as underwear sizes. Everything will be in a royal blue, rich, elegant, and she will take the men's attention away from what they're there for.
Once I hit send on the email, I push to my feet and decide it's time to go home. I can work from there, but more importantly, I need to talk to Luna. She must be on her best behavior because the moment those men walk into that house, I want her to charm them. I know she can, she's done it with me, unknowingly.
Last night, being with her, inside her, taking her purity seems to have woken me up somehow. I can't explain it, but I feel alive for the first time in a long while.
When I walk into the apartment, the scent of baking hits me and I make my way to the kitchen to find Luna at the oven. "What are you doing?" I ask, confused at why she's staring through the dark window, which doesn't offer insight as to what is inside the oven.
Luna's gaze snaps to mine, her cheeks darken with a deep red and she smiles. "I was just making something for dessert," she tells me. "I wasn't sure if you we were going to have dinner?" The hope in her eyes makes my chest tighten.
"Why?" I don't know why I ask it, why I say it, but the moment the word falls from my lips, I want to pull it back. Not because I regret saying it, but because of the look on her face.
"I-I was just wondering," Luna whispers. "I'll be done here in a little while and be out of your way."
“You don’t need to rush,” I tell her, finding myself needing to be close to her. The scent of candied apples emanates from her as if she were the sweet treat. I make my way into the space, crowding her. “It’s nice to see you in the kitchen,” I taunt, knowing I’ll get a rise out of the minx.
“Of course,” she murmurs. “It’s about the only thing I’m good for.” Her words are pained. And before I can think about it, I grip her shoulders and spin her around.
“What do you mean?” I bite out, unsure of where the frustration is coming from.
Luna lowers her gaze to her entwined hands. When she lifts those glimmering orbs to mine, I find tears on her lashes. “The wife of a Boss is seen as the housemaid, the mother, the woman in the house. Not the person who stands beside her husband.”
The pain in her tone squeezes at my chest. The feeling has been foreign to me. But since Luna’s been in my life, I’ve come to realize it’s affection. “That’s not what I meant.”