Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
And I fear that this time… this time what he saw has broken him in some way.
Mikhail did a number on me in front of him tonight. I’ve caked on almost an entire bottle of foundation and concealer, but it’s still not enough to cover the bruises and marks his fists left. Usually my bastard of a husband doesn’t beat me in front of my son, and usually he avoids my face, but ever since my parents passed away, he’s grown more careless.
Careless and dangerous.
He’s gone from giving me the occasional slap or shove, to treating me like his personal punching bag.
I can’t even remember what set him off tonight, everything seems to set him off lately.
All I remember is that one minute I was setting the table for dinner and the next I was on the floor with him standing over me, yelling.
I may or may not have said something back to him, something that pissed him off even more, and that’s when the real beating began.
He punched me and kicked me so many times, I lost count.
Fearing for my life, fearing that he was actually going to kill me this time because he was screaming he was going to do just that, I called the police.
The one thing you never do as the wife of one of the most powerful men in Miami’s Bratva is call the police. And if you do call the police, you sure as fuck don’t let them take your husband away in handcuffs. You also don’t agree to press charges and beg them to hold him for twenty-four hours so you can get the hell out of dodge.
But that’s exactly what I did because at the time I had no other choice. It was either give up and die or try to live another day for Levi.
If it wasn’t for Robert helping me make my escape, I’d probably be buried in an unmarked grave somewhere.
Instead, I’m still living and breathing.
At least for the time being.
Robert hits his blinker as we approach a four-way intersection. Taking a right, we drive for ten more minutes in silence, the thick foliage around us gradually thinning until we come up on what looks like a little town out here in the middle of nowhere.
Before we actually reach the town though, Robert hits his blinker again, making another right turn into the parking lot of a run-down little motel.
The name of the place is long gone, the letters on the sign eaten away by the Florida elements. The building itself is so dilapidated it looks like it could cave in on itself at any second. Only one other car is the parking lot, an older model blue minivan parked in front of what was once the office.
Robert pulls up beside the van and parks.
Then he looks over at me.
Looking back at him and knowing this is where we part ways, my heart starts to race. I squeeze my clenched hands tighter, trying to get a grip on myself.
The past two years of my life have been a living nightmare, but the idea of trying to get free of it is just as terrifying.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I don’t know if I have the tools, the means, or the capabilities to fucking survive on my own.
Pathetic, right?
But I’ve never had to take care of myself before.
At the age of twenty, I went straight from the care of my over-protective parents into the controlling arms of my husband.
Unlike other women my age, I don’t know how to function in the real world.
In some ways, I’m stunted.
And just the idea of what I’m about to do is daunting as hell.
“It’s going to be okay, Allison,” Robert says and reaches for me.
Covering my hands with his, he gives me a reassuring squeeze.
I stare into his face, a face I’ve watched grow older but more sophisticated over the years, and will myself to believe that as much as he does.
Robert is… was my father’s closest friend. They grew up together, and for as long as I can remember he’s always been around. He was there at my Kindergarten graduation. He’s been at every birthday party I can recall. I think I even remember him dressing up as Santa Claus a couple of times before I figured out Santa wasn’t real.
He’s not only my lawyer, he’s practically my uncle.
And currently my only friend in the world.
“Just breathe,” he encourages me and gives my hands another squeeze. “We’re executing the plan a little early, but everything is in place. You’ll have everything you need.”
I nod my head and suck in a breath, then another. Breathing in through my nose and out my mouth until I feel calmer.
He’s right. I don’t know why I’m freaking out about this when we’ve been planning this since my parent’s funeral four months ago. Yes, we’re executing everything a month early, but I knew this day was coming.