Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Sometimes I wondered if I remembered it correctly or if I’d made some of it up. What I knew for certain was that they’d come into our beds and tied us up there, while we were asleep and least expecting the attack. They didn’t bother gagging us or doing any of the things I'd only seen in movies back then. Now, as an adult, after I’d done the things that I’d done, I looked back on that day and saw things I hadn’t before, like what Rosie just said. The women were killed, they hadn’t been raped, they hadn’t been tortured. They were shot in a way that wouldn’t make them suffer. The ones who suffered most were the ones who survived. Sometimes the aftermath of a tragedy is worse than the tragedy itself.
“Why do you think that is?” she whispered.
I wished I could erase the concern in her brown eyes, erase the pain and terror she lived with. I’d live with it doubly, triply, if it meant that she wouldn’t feel it. I sighed. I could’ve said nothing. I could’ve told her I didn’t want to talk about this, and that we’d already had a long day dealing with this. As it was, I’d only spoken to three people about this, including her. None of the women in my past knew, not by my account anyway. It was probably the reason I’d never been completely serious about any of them, not because they hadn’t been fun or beautiful or great in bed, but because I couldn’t open up to them. I didn’t want to. But Rosie? Fuck. I’d do anything for Rosie. Maybe it was because she’d been there and could relate. Maybe it was just her. I couldn’t say. I reached for her and pulled her a little closer so that her cheek lay on my heartbeat.
“It was personal,” I said against her hair. “What’s a home without a matriarch?”
“Who would do that, though?” She pulled back slightly to look at me. “I really don’t think it was who they said.”
“I don’t think so either. If I thought it had been, or if I knew, they’d be . . .” I bit my tongue.
“Dead,” she said, finishing the sentence for me.
I gave a nod and brushed her cheek with the back of my hand. This was one thing I didn’t want to speak to her about. It was the reason she was reluctant to be with me, because of the things she thought I did. It was also one of the reasons I’d been reluctant to take her back there. I was nervous that it would drive a wedge between us and make her pull away more. She took a breath and leaned forward again, cheek resting on my heart.
“Hey, Dom,” she said quietly against me.
“Hm.”
“I feel safe with you.”
My heart stopped. My grip tightened around her. She couldn’t have known how much I wanted to hear those words, how much I needed to hear them. “You’ll always be safe with me.”
“I still worry,” she said. “About you. I don’t like the idea of you going out there and doing things that may get you killed.”
“Would you miss me, tiny dancer?” I smiled against her hair. “Would you grieve me?”
“You know I would. You know it would kill me.” Her voice broke. “That’s why I’m afraid that this isn’t—”
“Nothing will happen to me, baby,” I said quickly, not letting her finish that sentence.
“How could you possibly know that?” She pulled away again, searching my eyes. I cupped her face, drawing circles on it with my thumb. I didn’t want to stop touching her. I couldn’t, especially tonight.
“I don’t go around starting wars, Rosie. I don’t go waving my gun around and killing people.”
“No?” She shot me a look.
“No. I run legitimate businesses,” I said, but when she raised an eyebrow, I corrected myself. “Legitimate enough that they won’t lock me up for them. Is that better?”
“Not really. I’m almost afraid to ask what that means.”
“Oui is legitimate,” I said. “I legitimately own a few gas stations.”
“So you don’t, like, sell drugs?”
“Nope.”
She searched my eyes. “You don’t kill people for a living?”
“No.” I let out a laugh. “Jesus, Rosie.”
“Did you used to?”
That one gave me pause. I nodded my response. I wasn’t going to lie to her.
“Like a made man?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She gave a nod, letting that sink in. She knew what that meant. She’d grown up around all of us. She lived between Patriarcha and Marchetti. She’d shared dinners with them, with all of us, and even though they didn’t bring up business at the dinner table, she would’ve heard the rumors like everyone else had. Some kids walk around idolizing doctors or astronauts. Some want to be superheroes and save the world. Where we come from, the mobsters were the heroes wearing capes. In the neighborhood where Rosie, Gabe, Rocco, Mikey, and I grew up, those guys were the ones we looked up to. Even Mike. The difference is, once he saw it for what it was, he wanted no part of it. I couldn’t blame him. It was nowhere near as exciting as they pretend it is in movies.