Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Hi there, I’m Maria Morelli.”
Maria passed my brother a cup of coffee, her eyes alight as she looked at him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I mean, for the coffee, but mostly for what you did for my sister.”
“Ma’am, have you reported any of this to the police back in Spokane?” the officer questioning me asked.
“No, because…I couldn’t.”
The officer’s expression was a cross between sympathy and aggravation.
“It sounds like this guy could be behind bars by tonight if you’d just tell me everything you know. We need more to go on than a pissed-off ex who may or may not have sent someone to threaten you.”
I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn’t. Nate had made sure of that.
“If I remember anything else, I’ll reach out to you,” I said.
“Was he threatening or abusive when you were together?”
Reluctantly, I shook my head.
“Ma’am, it’s important that you’re honest with me,” the officer said.
“Look, she answered your questions,” Sawyer said. “If anything else comes up, we’ll reach out.”
“Officer, how about some cinnamon rolls and coffee?” Maria offered. “Just a tiny little thank you. We’re so grateful for your bravery and service.”
His expression softened. Apparently, Maria knew how to butter up more than just rolls.
“That would be appreciated,” he said, passing me a business card. “If you need anything else, you can reach me here, and it rings to the front desk twenty-four hours if I’m not in.”
Maria took his arm. “You probably hardly get any breaks at all. Serving and protecting is such hard work. I’m going to send you along with a whole tray of cinnamon rolls.”
“Lucy, what the hell?” Sawyer said, running a hand through his hair.
I gave him a look, letting him know we weren’t discussing this here.
“I need to text Kon, and then can you follow me back home?” I asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
I took out my phone, trying to decide how to phrase this. Kon was going to lose his shit, no matter how I described what had just gone down.
“I’m going to go introduce myself to, uh…Mario and Luigi,” Sawyer said, gesturing. “I’ll meet you up front when you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
I typed out a message to Kon, deleted it, and then typed out another. Vagueness was probably best until we could talk face-to-face.
Lucy: Something happened this morning. I’m okay. I’ll tell you about it when you come over later.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kon
Terrified didn’t come close to what I felt when I saw the bruises on Lucy’s beautiful face and neck. Some motherfucker had put his hands on my woman—I didn’t give a shit how we defined our relationship at the moment but she was mine—and whoever it was had to pay.
“I’m fine,” she said for what had to be the hundredth time.
“You are not fine,” I growled. It was impossible to hide my annoyance as I glanced at Sawyer. “How did you let her move in with this creep?”
Sawyer glared back at me. “Dude. She’s a grown-ass woman. She said she loved him. When I met him, I thought he was kind of boring, but she seemed happy.” He paused, turning to his sister. “But you weren’t, were you? By the time you met Nate, Annie was sick. So you weren’t going to tell me anything like that.”
Lucy sighed. “I wasn’t unhappy. I just wasn’t happy happy. Like you and Annie. But I thought maybe that kind of love wasn’t in the cards for me. It’s not like our parents had a relationship like that, or any of my friends, for that matter.”
Sawyer's face tightened but he merely nodded. “I wish you’d talked to me, sis.”
“Things were fine. Until they weren’t.”
“You cannot live this way,” I protested. “Afraid they will come after you every time you leave the house. I want you to come to my place for a while.”
“Fuck that!” Sawyer snapped. “I can protect her.”
“I never said you couldn’t, but they know where you live. They don’t know anything about me.” I met his gaze, all but daring him to contradict me.
“I have a plan,” Lucy said, getting up and grabbing her laptop from the counter. “Look at this.” She opened it and brought up a screen showing an old, dilapidated building that looked very European.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s a villa in a town in Italy called Chevalia. It’s about thirty minutes south of Tuscany.” She seemed excited as she scrolled through the pictures. “The town is struggling, losing population because it’s hard to find work and tourists don’t find their way there too often. They’re offering foreigners homes and apartments for dirt cheap—like less than a thousand Euro—with the only stipulations being that you renovate the place within three years and live there for five.” Her smiled was broad, her eyes filled with excitement. “I’ve been in touch with an international school in Europe looking for English teachers to do tutoring online for students trying to improve their English, so I’ve potentially got a job lined up. They’ll never find me there and I can start over.”