Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 142939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“All of them twats.” Butcher smirks.
“Exactly.” Antonio nods. “She’ll take one look at them and realize she’s going down the wrong path. Maybe this is exactly what she needs to kick her ass into gear about applying to college. She wanted a gap year–I said fine. I’m going to say fine to this too. Let’s see how long it takes for her to realize she’s fucking up.”
“This is a bad idea.” I can barely keep my voice level. “Inviting the other families to send their young men into our home–this can cause trouble. Especially when they find out Carina didn’t choose any of them.”
Antonio shrugs. “Maybe.” His eyes focus on me. “But what if she finds a young man in the bunch she likes?” He watches me, his gaze unwavering.
I take a deep, calming breath. Even though I want to rage. Even though I want to tear through this fucking office and destroy every last scrap of furniture and plaster right down to the fucking studs.
I can feel Butcher’s eyes on me, too, like a fucking brand burning into my temple.
Antonio gives a curt nod. “Then it’s decided.” He’s taken my silence for assent–instead of for the white-hot fury it truly represents. “I’ll put the word out. Let’s plan dinner for this Saturday and let the families send whoever they want. She’ll have her pick.” He glances at my hands. “You all right?”
I glance down and realize I’ve fisted them so hard my knuckles have gone white. I don’t trust myself to speak, not when I feel a knot in my throat and fire in my gut. I can only nod.
“Good.” He leans forward and opens his laptop. “Let’s talk this afternoon about the Irish accounts. I need to get this set up.” He raises his gaze to me again. “I’d let you handle the details, but I know you’re elbow deep in Larone’s books. What a fucking mess he had going over there.”
Turning, I mechanically stride from the office. I hear the door close behind me, Butcher staying behind to talk to Antonio. I’m so on edge I think I might fucking levitate, my muscles tight as I walk to the kitchen and look inside.
Carina, Angelica, and Bianca are sitting at the kitchen table talking as Carina eats a late breakfast.
“Carina.” I can’t keep the bite out of my voice.
She looks up, a smug expression on her beautiful face. “Yeah, what?”
“I need a word.” I need a whole fucking lot more than that.
“Okay, have a word.” She waves her fork around the table.
“Privately.” I move toward her, always drawn to wherever she is.
Bianca and Angelica exchange a look then rise.
“Hey, you can stay.” Carina’s voice contains a slight hint of worry, and when she looks up at me, the smugness is still there but also a sliver of concern. As if she’s happy that she’s pushed me but wondering if she perhaps went too far.
Yes, you fucking did, brat. I keep my gaze on her as Angelica and Bianca scurry from the kitchen, throwing hurried “See you laters” over their shoulders.
“What the fuck was that?” I lean over the table, pinning her with my stare.
She puts her fork on her plate and dabs her mouth with her napkin. “In civilized society, this is usually called ‘breakfast.’”
I broke my arm when I was a kid. Fell out of a tree that I had climbed in haste to escape a couple of bullies. Once the bullies gave up, I tried to make my way back down. That’s when I missed a foothold and fell. When I hit the ground, I felt my arm snap. It was a quick, sharp feeling. And it had a sound. That same snap–the feeling, the sound, the sharpness, all of it–echoes in my mind as I snap again.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab her upper arm, lift her from her chair, and drag her across the kitchen.
“Hey!” She struggles against me and swipes at the block of knives on the counter.
But I have the element of surprise. Who would’ve thought the reasonable, level-headed Gilly would manhandle his best friend’s little sister? No one. Not even Carina. She didn’t hear the snap. But I did. She fucking broke a part of me, and now I’m going to show her the jagged edge she caused.
I push her into the pantry and slam the door behind us, then shove her against the shelves, gripping her wrists and pinning them behind her.
“What the fuck!” She struggles, knocking over some jars.
I don’t care. I tighten my grip. “Suitors, brat? Is that what you want?”
“What business is it of yours?” she snaps, her breath coming out in pants.
I can almost smell her arousal. My little brat gets off on crossing me. “You don’t need suitors.” I growl. “I know exactly what you need.”