Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I tilted my head to the side, and his teeth scraped my skin, making me shiver.
He chuckled, gripping my chin and twisting my head to the side until his waiting lips brushed mine. “How is your shoulder?”
“Okay.”
He rounded the couch and clasped my chin, towering over me as he turned my head one way, then the other. I knew my face looked awful. The bruising from my broken nose had spread, giving me two black eyes.
“It looks better,” he said.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Fine, you look like shit.” He smirked before stepping back. “Still beautiful, though.”
Tommy made a retching sound, and I laughed as Gio flipped him off.
“Have you eaten, piccola?”
Tommy met my gaze across the room, fighting a smile after I’d bitched to him yesterday about Gio always trying to feed me.
“I can feed myself, Gio.”
“I didn’t ask if you could.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m not hungry. I have coffee.”
“I’ll make you something.”
There was no point in arguing with him. The man was almost as obsessed with feeding me as he was fucking me. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet before dragging me to the kitchen.
Annaliese was cleaning up, and she offered me a warm smile before leaving us alone. The older woman didn’t say much, but I guessed in a house rife with mafia activity and the screams of torture, that was a very good thing.
Gio picked me up and put me on the counter the same way he always did when he was cooking. I bitched about him constantly feeding me, but I liked the peacefulness of watching him cook. Maybe it was just because he seemed calm, normal. For a few moments, he wasn’t a mafia boss, just a man doing something basic, something he enjoyed. I didn’t know him as well as I should, considering he was my husband, but I knew he didn’t often have time for enjoyment.
He took some ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a dishcloth before handing it to me. “Put that on your face.”
I did as I was told, and he began moving around the kitchen, cracking eggs and chopping peppers.
It was only then that I realized the screaming had stopped. Was Matteo dead? The silence felt ominous, almost haunting. I’d grown accustomed to the pained cries, and that was a disturbing thought.
I was halfway through the omelet he had made me—possibly the best omelet I’d ever had—when Jackson appeared, wiping blood from his hands with a rag.
“Anything?” Gio asked, placing his cutlery down on his empty plate.
Jackson grinned, looking a little manic. If he weren’t Gio’s friend, I would find the man terrifying. He was, after all, the cause of all the screaming that had become the symphony of the last three days.
“Yep. Got Sergio’s location.”
Gio pushed to his feet and put his plate in the dishwasher. “Never doubted you.”
Jackson snorted and waved a hand toward the hall. “He’s all yours.”
Gio moved toward the door, removing a gun from his holster.
“Wait.” I stood. “You’re going to kill Matteo?”
He clasped the gun at his side. “Yes.”
“I want to see him.” I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I just needed to witness his demise, to see him as hopeless and broken as my sister was. Maybe I just needed to know that he was truly gone, that Chiara was avenged.
“Piccola, he’s in no state for visitors.”
Jackson snorted. “What he means, little sparrow, is that he’s mutilated beyond recognition, and it’ll give you nightmares.”
They all thought I was so damn fragile. And maybe I was compared to them, but I harbored a level of rage toward that man that could not compare. There was nothing they could do to him that would disgust me. He deserved all of it.
“Don’t treat me like I’m some fragile little girl, Gio.”
He shook his head and re-holstered the gun. “Fine, but remember I warned you, amore mio.”
I nodded, determined to prove him wrong even as anxiety gnawed at my gut. Not over seeing Matteo tortured, it was just him. Even weak and at death’s door, looking in that man’s eyes was like looking into the depths of my own nightmares. He was my walking, talking, breathing demon in the flesh. But not for much longer.
“I want to see him suffer.”
Gio took my hand, dropping a kiss on my forehead before he led me out of the kitchen. “So bloodthirsty, princess.”
He walked down the hall but hesitated outside the basement door. “Emilia…”
“I’m fine, Gio. I don’t care what you’ve done to him. It won’t change the way I look at you if that’s what you’re worried about.” I already knew he did awful things.
He huffed a short laugh. “Not me.” No, Jackson, his right hand.
He pulled the door open and walked down the stairs ahead of me. My stomach churned as we approached the two doors at the end of the corridor. I knew Luca was on the other side of one of them. I tried to push him from my mind and focus on the other door.