Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“If I give even an inch, the Bratva will never leave. Decades of hell for people who just want to live their lives.”
“So soft, Italian, so humane.”
I bare my teeth, not quite a grin. “If I were as soft as you wish, I wouldn’t be here. You’d already be king.”
He picks at the table, then quickly stills the movement as if annoyed at himself for the weakness.
“When I was a boy, my father taught me a valuable lesson. One day, without warning, he struck me hard across the face and told me it was my fault. I was not ready. I should always be ready.”
A waiter is walking across the room. He is moving oddly, holding a tray with a dishcloth placed over it, hiding his hand. Fyodor smirks, eyebrow raised, reveling in what’s about to happen, but nothing’s going to happen. Not to my men. Not when I can do something about it. I see it. I have always seen things. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m alive.
The Family shaped me. The life. The violence. The waiter walks toward Dario, drops his tray, and aims his gun at my brother. I’m running fast. I grab the waiter’s forearm and twist it so sharply it cracks with an audible pop. He yelps and then starts coughing when I punch him in the throat, letting him fall to the floor.
Dario picks up the gun. “What the fuck?”
He aims it at the man on the floor, then swivels, pointing it at Fyodor. The Russians rise to their feet. The Italians do the same. All around us, civilians are yelling, panicking, and screaming for somebody to call the police.
“I had nothing to do with this,” Fyodor says innocently. “Lower the gun before you force me to respond.”
“You can’t expect me to belie—”
“Dario,” I growl, glaring at him.
Fyodor wants this. There’s chaos in his eyes, a sick enjoyment in the curve of his pale lips. He’s ready to die, or at least doing an incredible job of seeming prepared to die. He likely wanted Dario reflexively to kill the waiter, the assassin, or for Dario to die. Dario lowers the gun. There’s nothing we can do, not in public.
“It seems our meeting has been cut short,” Fyodor says.
“This is the last time we show you civility,” I tell him, keeping my voice cold. “Only a rat fuck pulls a move like that.”
“I honestly don’t kn—”
“Enough. We all know what happened here. Time for you to leave.”
I’m going to kill you, Fyodor, I almost say, but there are too many civilians around. He and the other Bratva leave the restaurant, Fyodor stopping to grin at me over his shoulder, so goddamn proud of himself.
“Why did you do that, eh?” Dario snaps, prodding the waiter in the leg.
He lies on the floor, nursing his busted arm. The man says something in Russian, then spits at Dario.
Dario leans away, scowling. “Fucking rodent. He would’ve executed me, Leo.”
“I know.”
“We have to…” Sirens sound in the air. Dario sighs. “We’re doing this legit, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Police interview. Witness reports. We’re just two successful business owners, one of whom almost got randomly assaulted in the mall.”
“Good thing we’re friends with the cops. They’d never believe this crap otherwise, but Fyodor… Tell me, brother. Please tell me.”
I move close to ensure nobody else can hear, lowering my voice. “We’re going to put him in the dirt.”
Dario grins.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emma
“Are you sure you want me to come?” I ask, looking at myself in the mirror.
We’re in Rosa’s bedroom. After Leo left me yesterday, Eddie knocked on the basement door and told me I had full run of the house. He said there’s security on the perimeter, so it makes no sense for me to be locked in one room.
I knew what was happening. Leo feels guilty for how we left things. Maybe he’s guilty because he lied and tried to be nice when I was crying, saying the forever thing. Or perhaps he’s guilty because, if it’s true, it means more betrayal.
My head won’t stop spinning. I think back to a few days ago before I saw Leo, felt him, and kissed him. I was so much colder then. I didn’t know a person’s ice could melt in less than a week.
“Emma?”
Crap. Rosa’s been talking to me. I’ve got to stop doing that.
“Yeah? Sorry.”
“I said, yes, I want you there. You and Dad get on okay, don’t you?”
I smooth my hand down the dress. It’s one of my party-style ones, showing more of my legs than I usually do. The cleavage cut isn’t low, but it’s not Sunday school.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say awkwardly.
“And you’re helping him with the accounting stuff.”
There was no way around telling her this lie—my excuse-minded brain tells me—because Rosa visited the basement, and I wasn’t there. She found me in the garden a few minutes after her dad left. She’d changed her mind and wanted to hang out after all.