Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
He might be the most powerful man in New York, but my mother is the true figure to be feared. I love my mother, but I could never imagine a woman having that kind of hold over me. Ever.
Hawke and Ford efficiently drag the body out.
“No offense, Pops, but you’re old as fuck now. Arranged marriages aren’t a thing anymore.”
“If you want to take over the business fully, it will be something you’ll acquaint yourself with very quickly.” I hold his stare. “Or you find a wife on your own. I don’t give a fuck what you do with her besides fill her belly with a child. Do as you please, but you will not be the exception to family tradition.”
My mother’s voice cuts through the room. “He says that, but what he means is you need to find someone who can match you and be your rock. There will be no other women outside of your marriage,” she says with a warning tone as she walks through the door. I stand, and she gives me a welcoming hug. My father’s jaw clenches; he’s always jealous of anyone else who gets attention from her.
“You want me to retire, but you want our cold-hearted son to find love at the same time? You’ll be waiting a while, princess,” he says as he stands and adjusts his suit. He’s always called her that, dotingly staring and longing for her in every capacity. My mother’s gaze softens as she smiles and takes his hand.
She’s dressed in a tight maroon dress, her caramel-colored hair falling in waves down her back. “You will retire by the end of this year. We agreed on this when you turned sixty, and it’s far past that.”
“And Eli will marry before the end of the year,” he states.
My mother sighs and looks at me again. “I’m sorry, honey, but I agree with him. It’s tradition.”
Being born with mob ties on both sides of my family, I’m shackled by tradition and expectation. Sure, I can kill whoever I want with good cause, but make sure I pick a nice little delicate wife to have all their grandbabies. I snarl at the thought.
“You can go through the file later. We have a party to attend,” my mother says, trying to dissipate the tension. “And would someone like to explain to me why the Ivanov twins are dragging a body around my polished wooden floors?”
A noticeable cold shudder runs over both my father and me, and I roll my shoulders uncomfortably. I wonder if he’s about to snitch on me, so I clear my throat. “Would you believe me if I told you he slipped because of how well-polished the floors are?”
My mother shoots me a deadpan look, and I know I’m about to get an earful. I reluctantly sit down for my millionth lecture about the fucking floors.
CHAPTER 4
Jewel
For fuck’s sake. Of all the places my anonymous client summoned me to, I wasn’t expecting the masquerade ball to be for Eli Monti’s not-girlfriend, Michelle Bedore. She’s the type of wannabe mafia princess I’m sure his parents will happily welcome in. Long blonde hair, fake tits—that I’m genuinely impressed by—and long legs. The girl is handed everything she could ever imagine, and the flashy example of money and splendor in their home makes me want to throw back the champagne I was given when I first walked into the mansion.
With a pink princess-style dress, pink flamingo mask, and crown, it’s obvious whose birthday it is. She squeals with excitement as her father offers her keys to a brand-new Porsche.
Her birthday cake is as tall as me—and that’s an impressive five foot nine—with the number twenty-five on top. I don’t know why it irritates me that we’re the same age, but it does. Probably because we couldn’t come from more vastly different worlds. Last year, I celebrated my birthday with Craig with a can of Pepsi and a store-bought chocolate cake. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, he gave me a new set of throwing knives, which is my dream come true. I have plenty of money from my hits, but I’ve never had the desire to change my lifestyle.
I circle the room, doing my best to stick to the shadows. I’m wearing a long black dress with a slit up to my hip on the right side. It makes it easy to access the small garter on my left with said throwing knife because a girl can never be too cautious when circulating in a room full of men who have been raised to only take.
I notice Crue and Rya Monti congratulating Michelle’s father. The Monti and Bedore families have a long relationship from the information I’ve gathered. There’s no sign of their son yet. Although people wear masks for this stupid, themed ball, it’s easy to pick out the big fish. Especially considering Crue Monti outright refuses to wear a mask. I’m not surprised. I don’t even know the fucker personally, but I do know he’s not someone to be told what to do, even if on a gold-printed invitation.