Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Jordan couldn’t argue with that logic.
“You don’t have to agree,” Ferrara said. “I wouldn’t hold that against you, because you would be putting your life at risk. But if you help me, you will be rewarded for your trouble, of course. You’ll be paid your annual salary for this.”
Jordan struggled not to show his surprise. As head of a small department, he did pretty well for himself. He couldn’t deny that it was incredibly tempting to earn his yearly salary in a week. But for Ferrara to offer him such a sum… It meant the danger was very real. Ferrara might be a billionaire, but $180,000 wasn’t small change even for a billionaire.
“If I were to accept,” Jordan said, staring Ferrara down, “I will need to know more than that. I’m not walking into this situation blind. So tell me more. Sir.”
Over the next hour, Ferrara did tell him more. It was pretty obvious that he still left a lot unsaid, but Jordan finally had a clearer picture after putting together everything Ferrara had told him and what he could read between the lines.
There was trouble brewing among the Italian mafia. Ever since Ferrara’s father, Marco Ferrara, had been murdered two months ago, there had been no new boss chosen yet, as far as Ferrara knew. Ferrara’s numerous family members seemed to be fighting for the position, with several of them already dead. Ferrara was convinced that someone from his family was behind the assassination attempts on him. His clan was very traditional: usually, Ferrara would have been expected to inherit his father’s criminal empire, which made him a potential risk for anyone wanting the top spot in the food chain, even though Ferrara was disowned.
“Damiano Conte,” Ferrara said, pushing a photograph across his desk. “My stepbrother. Sort of.”
Wondering how one became a “sort-of” stepbrother, Jordan looked at the photograph. The man in it looked a little like Ferrara: tall, fit, thick dark hair, though his face was much more angular than Ferrara’s, with sharp, penetrating eyes that weren’t as dark as his stepbrother’s. His bespoke suit did little to hide his impressive physique, and the self-assured way he held himself made it obvious that this was a man who was used to getting his own way. A powerful man.
Tearing his gaze away, Jordan lifted his eyes to Ferrara. “Why do you suspect him?”
“Damiano is… a complicated person,” Ferrara said, his expression becoming grim again. “He’s the most dangerous out of them. We never had an easy relationship. As a boy he resented my position in the family, because he had to work for everything while I was born into power and money. And I used to be a total asshole, to be honest.”
Used to be?
Jordan almost laughed. The majority of Ferrara’s employees were scared shitless of him for a reason. The man was a total tyrant, and he had probably been a bully as a kid, too.
“He became more closed off and harder to read as we grew up,” Ferrara said. “I haven’t seen him in more than a decade. I don’t know if he still hates me. He doesn’t have any reason to envy me anymore—last I heard, he owns half of Italy by now. But…”
“Hatred isn’t rational,” Jordan said quietly. And people could hold onto childhood grudges for a long time.
Ferrara nodded. “We always competed for stuff when we were young. He liked taking things away from me. Even if he isn’t behind the assassination attempts, he’ll pay close attention to Nate—and I don’t want Nate anywhere near him.” Ferrara’s expression darkened. “I may not have seen Damiano in a decade, but I’ve heard rumors and they’re… disturbing. He’s dangerous. That’s the main reason why I want you to take Nate’s place on this trip.”
“To be a piece of meat you throw to a lion to distract him?” Jordan said wryly.
Ferrara grimaced a little but didn’t even bother denying it, the asshole.
Jordan considered it for a moment. Could he say no? Frankly, he doubted it, no matter what Ferrara had claimed. You didn’t say no when your boss asked for help. What if Jordan said no and then Nate got hurt—or worse? Ferrara would never forgive him. He was ruthless and vindictive enough to ruin his career.
Besides, he did like Nate. He was a good guy. Jordan wanted to help him. Earning $180,000 in a week wouldn’t hurt, either.
Jordan looked at his boss. “You expect me to pretend to be your boyfriend. What exactly would that entail?”
“I might touch your arm or shoulder, but other than that, there won’t be any public displays of affection. There will be many old-fashioned, homophobic people in attendance, so any PDA would be considered offensive. We likely won’t even be given the same room.”
Inwardly, Jordan exhaled in relief. Not that Ferrara was repulsive or anything, but he didn’t want to get intimate with him, or pretend to be. For one thing, Ferrara was his boss, and a man in a serious relationship. For another, Jordan was straight. Well, he had enjoyed sucking cock on occasion—during threesomes his ex-wife had talked him into—but he wasn’t attracted to men at all. He had no desire to make out with Ferrara, no matter how objectively handsome he might be. Men did nothing for him, be it sexually or romantically.