Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“How do you know all this anyway?”
He looks away. “Something with the business. I can’t say more.”
“Oath of silence?”
“Something like that. Famiglia shit, you know.”
I roll my eyes. I know what the family business is. “You know, Nico, I can’t wait for the day when my papa assigns you somewhere far, far away and I never have to deal with your crap again.”
“I highly doubt that.” He looks back at me and a smirk graces his pretty mouth. “You love it when I torture you and, princess, you’d better believe I love to torture.”
“What you call fun, I call annoying and borderline harassment, so kindly fuck off,” I flip him off, turn on my heel, and march to my papa’s study.
But his words linger. Nico is a lot of things—asshole, bully, conceited piece of shit, aggressive dickhead, so on and so forth—but he’s not a liar. So I’m more than a little concerned when I reach Papa’s study and knock on the intricately carved wooden door before turning the handle.
It’s cool and quiet. Big, shaded windows line the top of the walls, beneath which bookshelves are packed to overflowing. A big desk sits on the left, and a fireplace that’s never used is on the right. I drift forward and Papa looks up from his laptop, a perpetual frown on his lips. He looks older every day—his thick hair is turning gray and thinning at the edges, and thick bags hang beneath his eyes. It’s all the stress from running the family business, and sometimes I wish my three brothers, Casso, Fynn, and Gavino, would step up sooner rather than later, just so Papa wouldn’t have to work so hard.
But that’s not the way things are. Papa’s the head of the house and the Don of the Famiglia, and I’m just the little baby daughter, the least important person in the room at all times. And guys like Nico will never let me forget it—especially Nico himself, the asshole. It’s like that man was born to tease and bully me, and his words are lodged in my head like a record stuck on repeat, ticking away again and again—this little match of yours—and a cold fear sinks into my stomach.
“Karah,” Papa says and gestures at a chair. “Please come and sit.”
I walk over but I linger beside the chairs. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Papa?”
He gives me a tight smile. “Do I need a reason to summon my youngest child? What if I simply wanted to see your shining face?”
I gave him a big, cheesy smile. “There it is. May I go?”
“Sit.”
I sink into a chair and fold my legs beneath me. Papa studies me for a moment and I feel my cheeks beginning to turn red with anxiety. I hate that I always blush whenever I’m upset or nervous, but I can’t help it.
“I’m sorry about the Amex,” I blurt out suddenly, unable to take the silence.
Papa groans and rubs his face. “You’re pathetic. You couldn’t hold out for ten seconds.”
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have taken it. There was a sale—”
“I don’t care about the credit card or the dresses.” He gives me a sharp look. “Under other circumstances, I’d be upset.”
“I won’t do it again.”
“Yes, I’m sure you will, but that won’t be my problem soon enough.”
My heart starts to race. So Nico really wasn’t kidding. Papa’s finally gone and found me a husband after threatening to do just that for the last few years, and my days of lounging around Villa Bruno sketching with charcoal and swimming and being happy and carefree are finally over. My life as I know it will change, and change drastically, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how badly I want things to keep going on like this. I’m the youngest and the daughter, and it’s my duty to marry, procreate, and be a good, happy mafia bride.
I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Papa’s been saying since I was a little girl that one day I’d marry a man for the Famiglia. My brothers would give their lives to the business, and I’d do the same, only different. I used to think it was glamorous and imagined my husband as a dashing but dangerous man that doted on me wonderfully.
But then I grew up and met more and more men in the business and realized I didn’t want to be married to a single one of them or a man remotely like them.
“Who is he?” I ask quietly, almost too scared to say the words.
Papa sighs and gently shakes his head. “His name is Jasha. He’s from a good family out in Texas—”
“By good family do you mean he’s a filthy gangster like the rest of you?”
Papa’s eyes go wide with amusement. He stares at me in surprise and I have to put my hands over my mouth to keep myself from saying more. I’m so stupidly angry and it just burst out of my dumb face, and now I can’t take the words back even if I wanted to. I sit there terrified and I know Papa’s going to yell, but he only rubs his temple and is quiet for a real long time before speaking.