Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Gorgio attempts a friendlier smile and fails. “All I’m suggesting is she may have a better time if she goes where she can be more comfortable, and maybe even get a little practice in.”
Because all women in our world typically are trained on an instrument.
Just another one of the ways I’m not typical and don’t fit.
I can feel Enzo’s temper rising, his fingers flexing where they lie.
I wait for him to tell me to go, but instead he says, “If it’s her comfort you’re after, then she’s in the right place. My fiancée dislikes classical music and the only instrument she plays is one I’d prefer not to mention.”
If I were less practiced in the art of self-control, I would gape at the man beside me. Gape and laugh because that was pretty smooth.
How does he know I hate classical music?
Philip scowls from me to Enzo, before swinging his eyes toward his father.
“That may very well be,” Gorgio begins, speaking slower now. “But need I remind you business is only spoken in front of family?”
“And she is mine.”
“Not yet she’s not,” is muttered very, very lowly from the left.
So much happens and all at once, I don’t even have time to process the unexpected warmth in my chest before all thoughts cut off and my awareness sharpens.
Philip flies to his feet, his eyes wide as he realizes his words were heard across the room, his trigger hand disappearing into the jacket of his suit.
Gorgio shoves to his full height, steak knife in one hand, cell in the other, his thumb hovering over the call button.
The two guards stationed on the right corners of the room jerk forward, drawing their weapons.
But none of that matters, because in the time it took them to stand and reach for their form of protection, Enzo has already reached down, gripped my hand, and spun me until I’m but a shadow behind his back. His gun is out, cocked and pointed at Philip’s head, his guards wielding a pair each, double-pointed at Gorgio and the other at their apposing guard.
Everyone in this room would be dead if Enzo wanted them to be, and in this moment, the Mitchells are realizing just that.
Silence passes in one beat and then a second.
No other choice, Gorgio concedes, a nearly unnoticeable dip of his chin one would miss if not intently watching and waiting to see what came next.
It’s quite entertaining, being all the men know he couldn’t exactly just kill them right here and now. I mean he could, but then Enzo would be hunted.
You can’t take out a notable family without reason, and pretending to be a possessive psycho when someone makes a comment about your new toy isn’t a good enough one.
It’s hot, but not justifiable for murder.
Even if Enzo is on the top tier of the cake and the Mitchells are but the icing you add around the bottom base—a nice addition but not a necessary one. At the end of the day, anyone can push pounds of pills if they know where to go, so to say the Mitchells are irreplaceable would be a lie.
Everyone returns to their seats and for the next two hours, the conversation carries on as if they didn’t point guns at each other’s heads or, you know, wish they were fast enough to be able to. It’s honestly super fucking weird.
It’s not until we’re back at the estate and stepping into the foyer of the mansion that Enzo spins and pins me with a hard look.
“What?”
“You didn’t speak up tonight,” he accuses.
My brows must disappear into my hairline because that is not a line I expected to hear. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“And I need a wife who doesn’t sit back like a voiceless doll.”
“Is that not an assumed law in this world?”
“Not in mine. You are no damsel so don’t act like one.”
“You have no idea what I am,” I throw back. “You know nothing about me.”
“Wrong.” He gets in my space. “I know everything about you.”
I laugh, loudly, and the anger lining his expression doubles in intensity at the bitter, incredulous sound. “Whatever.” I shake my head, my expression clearly relaying how full of shit his statement is. “Look, if you want me to act a certain way, then you’re going to have to find time in your busy schedule to actually speak to me to make those expectations known. Or if that’s too blue-collar for you, then at least tell Grandma so she can relay the message.”
He scowls, but he pushes forward, washing it away. The look on his handsome face is fierce as he crowds my space, delivering each word slower than necessary as if speaking to a child. “What I want is the girl I paid for, not this watered-down version of her.”