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)
I nearly growl at him and tell him to fuck off, but I manage to rein in my temper and turn to my best friend.
“Elise assaulted me out at the pool. I’m off to file a police report.”
He cackles with delight. “God, she’s fucking crazy, right? I have no clue why Papa keeps her around.”
“Because she’s half his age, attractive, and leaves him alone so long as her credit card bills get paid.” And she probably sucks a mean dick to keep him happy, but I don’t say that part out loud.
“Speaking of Papa, he wants an update on Rinaldo. You still on the hunt?”
“Still on the hunt and nothing to add.”
“Well, you’d better come tell him that yourself, but make it sound a little more convincing. Plus, I think we have a job tonight.”
I stare past him toward the stairs. Karah’s probably twisting whatever she thinks she saw into something so much worse than it was. I want to get up there and explain before she spirals.
But I can’t skip a meeting with the Don. If he summons, I show up without complaint. That’s how this Famiglia works, and I’m not in a position to buck the trend.
Not yet at least.
And I don’t know why I even care what Karah thinks. I wasn’t doing anything with Elise out there, and I’m not Karah’s husband. I don’t owe her an explanation for something I couldn’t even control.
If she wants to freak out about it, fucking let her.
I’m frustrated and angry, but I follow Casso to Don Bruno’s office for another worthless status update, while all I’d rather do is storm upstairs and pull Karah’s hair and kiss her soft lips and tease her dripping pussy until she’s a stuttering wreck of lust and want.
Chapter 17
Karah
Balls roll down the lane and smash into pins. The smell of lemon-scented cleaner is lodged in my hair and on my clothes and my feet ache from standing for the last four hours. The counter’s sticky, and a group of young kids run laps around the dining tables screaming at each other, and now everyone calls me shoe girl.
And all I can do is obsess about Nico and Elise.
Even when Bruce shouts at me to quit daydreaming and Gavino laughs, I’m still distracted by the memory of Elise sitting in Nico’s lap, wiggling her hips, jiggling her big fake boobs, and making those ridiculous faces at the camera.
Seriously, who still does that?
She stuck out her tongue and I swear she was about to make that hentai sex face—the one with the eyes rolled back.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the look on Elise’s face drove a spike of rage straight down my back.
It was pure carnal lust.
She liked sitting in his lap. She was enjoying herself, rubbing all up against him like she was a kitten and he was a big bag of catnip. His face was much more guarded, and he never actually touched her, but still.
She wanted to fuck him.
And the idea drives me absolutely wild with jealousy.
What the hell is the matter with me? I don’t own Nico. We’re not engaged, we’re not married, we’re not even together.
He got me off in the car outside of my house but that’s about it.
Not the sort of thing on which one bases a long-term healthy relationship.
But for me, it’s a huge deal. Some people can get casually fingerbanged by their nemesis in a car in the middle of the night and walk away without extremely complicated feelings, but I am not one of those people.
Getting touched and kissed by Nico lit my core on fire and made me feel some very confusing things.
Self-loathing, hatred, desire, lust, whatever.
Then to see Elise, of all people, grinding up on his dick?
It was too much.
I could’ve handled it better. I could’ve talked to him about it, but what would that have accomplished? I was much too jealous and angry in the moment to be a rational adult, so I did what any sane person would do: I stormed up into my room and hid under the covers.
That’s just how I roll.
“Shoe girl!” Dave does not sound happy as I hurry over to help some customers. I catch Fynn chuckling at me from the bar and shoot him a goofy grin.
I’m glad he’s here and opening up a little bit—I know he’s been feeling bad about what happened with Rinaldo. I practically had to beg him to show up and drink some free liquor, but he seems happy he’s here.
And I’m happy I’m not stuck with only Papa’s goons to watch over me.
The night drags on.
Now I understand what everyone’s been complaining about all this time.
As the great poets Blink-182 once said: Work sucks. I know.
And it only gets worse about halfway through my shift, at the height of my boredom and anxiety, my feet aching like someone dropped a brick on them, when Nico strides in through the front door and sits down next to Fynn.