Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
"And you should see her creampuffs," Flo says, completely changing the subject. Helena snaps her gum and smiles at me.
"I met him in Tuscany," she says. "I was really good friends with someone he… ahhh… dated." Flo is making a sign across her throat like she's trying to silently tell Helena to shut up, but Helena isn't shutting up, and I don't want her to.
"Oh?" I say curiously, trying my best to muster up innocence. I hope the pigtails help.
"So what’s ya numba?” Helena says with a laugh. Flo pales.
I blink. "My what?"
She leans in. "Ya numba, girlfriend. Adriano has a bit of a reputation, ya might say.”
“Helena, no…”
“Like, how many guys has he killed that have come anywhere near ya?"
Is this girl really talking about this as if it's funny? I look at Flo, who has a deer in the headlights look if I've ever seen one.
"I told you he was known for having a temper," Flo says.
"There's a big difference between being known for having a temper and killing people. Like, a big, big difference." I turn and look at Helena. "Are you speaking metaphorically?" She cringes. Flo grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the kitchen. As they leave, Helena chirps, “What does speaking ‘metaforkaly’ mean, Auntie?”
I stand, shell-shocked, staring at Eden. "Wait!" I follow after them because I want to know more. "Flo, stop."
Helena turns around and looks at me, now appearing a little abashed. "What are you talking about?” I ask her. “He's my husband. I have a right to know."
Flo shakes her head. "Honey, he's obsessive. Possessive. It's just who he is, it's his personality type. He adores you. I mean, like anybody that walks in and sees the two of you together might think that." Suddenly, Helena looks like she wants to take everything back. What is going on here?
"She shouldn't have said anything. He's your husband and you’re happily married." They leave. I turn and look at Eden. Eden would never lie to me.
"Do you know anything about this?" Eden puts down the spoon she’s using to stir with and turns to look at me.
"I never wanted to hide anything from you. But you know, and I know, that these men are involved in organized crime; they operate by different rules than you and I do. I don't know much about Adriano, except that I once overheard someone say he was accused of murdering a woman he was in love with back in Italy." My jaw drops.
"And when were you planning on telling me that?"
"Right now, because I didn't want bigmouth Helena to tell you that. Listen, I didn't see any good coming out of telling you, so I didn't. I have no idea if it's true. Sergio said it wasn't… well, actually he said it was justified…"
"Eden!"
"Quinn, there are lots of rumors. I don't know what's true and what isn't. But I trust Sergio and Sergio had you marry Adriano. Has Adriano given you any reason to believe that you can't trust him?"
That's a hard one to answer. Is he protective of me? Yes. Is he diligent? Yes. He's hardworking, and I love spending time with him. He's good to me, really.
Has he told me everything? No, but Sergio doesn't tell Eden everything either, and she seems fine with that.
Still, I’m uneasy. I don't like the fact that there's a woman here who knows details about my husband, and the whole joke about the number… what the hell does that mean?
Did he kill a woman?
Where does he draw the line?
I'm in a bit of a daze when I enter the club, which is the only reason I don't notice the man standing six feet in front of me until I nearly bump into him.
"Quinn?"
There's a rule here at the club that men aren’t allowed to talk to me. I know that my protective husband put this rule in place, and I also know that it's over-the-top, but I go along with it. Then I realize who’s talking to me.
It's the Dom who ditched me and was sucking face with the redheaded girl the day I saw Adriano commit murder.
He never gave me his name. It's not uncommon at Bella Notte for people to have pseudonyms or play names. He just made me call him sir.
Asshole.
"Hi," I say weakly. I keep walking.
"Excuse me?" He folds his arms on his chest. "I go traveling for a couple of weeks, and that's how you greet me when I return? What a naughty, bratty little slut you’ve become. I think some much-overdue punishment is in order."
My heartbeat kicks up. Oh, no. Someone hasn't gotten the memo. I turn around to talk to him, to tell him to leave me the fuck alone, lifting my hand to show him my wedding band. But he decides he's going to jump right into dom mode. He walks closer to me and wraps his hand around the back of my neck.