Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My heart thunders in my chest as I stare up at him, and I make a strangled sound as I try to suck in a breath.
“It … was … an accident,” I gasp. “My heel … broke, and I …. tripped.”
He moves an inch, and not easing his hold on my throat, he glances at my broken shoe. Seemingly satisfied with my explanation, he finally lets go of me and straightens to his full height.
Caro Dio.
I suck in desperate breaths of air as I quickly climb to my feet. Only when my eyes land on Damiano, who’s already walking away from me while tucking his gun back into the waistband of his chinos, does anger begin to swirl in my chest.
The asshole. He just slammed me against the tiles and almost choked the hell out of me, and he can’t be bothered to say a single word?
I rip the broken shoe off my foot and almost throw it at his back, but luckily, I catch myself in the nick of time.
Scowling at his retreating back, I slam my hand against the button on the wall to call the elevator. When the doors open, I step into the small space before glaring at the stupid shoe that almost got me killed.
My shoulders and hips still hurt, and I lift a trembling hand to my throat.
He didn’t need to overreact like that.
Dio, like I’d try to kill him? I’m not stupid, and I certainly don’t have a death wish.
Heading to my bedroom, I quickly change my shoes before rushing to the dining room.
I don’t even look in Damiano’s direction and offer Mrs. Accardi a forced smile as I take a seat next to Carlo.
Just get through dinner with your head held high.
From years of abuse, I’ve become a master at hiding my true feelings. I refuse to let people see my vulnerable side because I know they’ll use it against me.
Reaching for my glass of water, I take a sip.
As I set the glass down, Mrs. Accardi’s eyes lock on my neck. “Where did the bruises come from?”
“Bruises?” Mrs. Falco asks, her features tightening.
I feel the air tense around the table and know if I glance at Damiano, he’ll probably give me a look of warning to keep my mouth shut.
My stubborn streak, that’s taken a rest the past week, flares to life, making my anger grow.
I’ve never hidden my bruises, and I refuse to lie on someone else's behalf. It’s landed me in trouble on many occasions.
The time Santo beat me for daring to swim on a hot day flashes through my mind. His friends came over and saw me in a bathing suit.
My brother dislocated my jaw that day, and when our priest visited during a house call, I didn’t stay hidden as instructed.
Not that the priest did anything when he saw my bruised face. My little act of rebellion cost me two broken ribs and three days locked in my room without food.
Even though my smart mouth will probably earn me a beating, I can’t keep the words from spilling over my lips. “I tripped and accidentally touched Mr. Falco’s gun. He grabbed my neck and slammed me against the floor.”
Mrs. Falco gasps, her face growing horribly pale. She makes a similar strangled sound as I did when her son almost choked the hell out of me.
Damiano shoots to his feet, and grabbing hold of his mother’s shoulders, he crouches beside her chair.
His tone is surprisingly gentle as he says, “Breathe, Mamma.”
Her breaths speed up, and it’s clear she’s having a panic attack.
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling awful for not keeping my mouth shut. I didn’t mean for Mrs. Falco to have a panic attack.
“Get out!” Damiano shouts. “Everyone!”
I’m up and out of the chair in a split second. When I rush into the hallway, I hear Damiano lovingly murmur, “It’s okay, Mamma. I’m here. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Mrs. Accardi places her hand on my arm, giving me a worried look. “Are you okay?”
“Not now, Ma,” Carlo mutters. “Gabriella, you should go to your room.”
Nodding, I hurry away as the realization that I caused Damiano’s mother to have a panic attack sinks like a rock to the pit of my stomach.
He’s going to kill me.
When I shut my bedroom door behind me, I wrap my arms around my middle and shake my head.
Dio. What have I done?
Feeling like a caged animal that’s about to be slaughtered, I start to pace up and down my room.
I shouldn’t have said anything.
With every passing minute, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
The growing tension becomes too much, and one after the other, the traumatic memories creep out of the shadows.
All the times my mother hit me.
The countless days I was locked in my room.
The endless hunger.
The day my father threw me over the balcony. He only tried to kill me that one time because, soon after, he brought Stefano home and announced our engagement.