Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
It was the first get-together at Renzo’s since the last one I’d been to, lying to everyone I was supposed to be honest with. For a woman who wanted nothing to do with me.
The fucked up part of it was, though, the main reason I wanted to go was to see her.
“Can I get you anything else?” a woman asked, appearing out of nowhere behind the counter, flashing a megawatt smile at me.
“That’s it,” I said, taking one of the boxes as Elian passed the cash to the man, then grabbed the other. “What?” I asked, feeling Elian’s gaze on my profile as we moved out onto the street.
“That woman was eye-fucking you, and you didn’t even notice, let alone get her number,” he said, brows scrunched.
I’d barely even clocked her existence, to be honest.
“We have to get the food to Renzo’s place while it’s still hot,” I said, shrugging it off.
“I once saw you jump out of a moving cab to talk to a woman sitting in an outdoor cafe.”
She’d been a fun weekend.
I likely still had her number somewhere.
And what I should have been doing was finding it, calling her, and getting lost in another woman.
Somehow, though, the idea held absolutely no appeal.
I don’t think I’d ever in my adult life gone this long without spending a night with a woman. Maybe that explained how restless and unfocused I’d been.
“Just wasn’t interested,” I said. “She wasn’t my type.”
“First, she was beautiful,” Elian said, rolling his eyes. “Second, woman is your type.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. All shapes, sizes, ages, I wasn’t picky. I’d always been more drawn to energy than just looks anyway.
“Are you… seeing someone?” Elian asked as I started walking, hoping he would take the hint and let it drop.
“Me?” I asked, shooting him a raised brow.
“I know. I normally wouldn’t even consider asking you that,” he said. “But something is… off. Even thought so at the last gathering.”
“I’m not seeing anyone,” I said, glad when we got to Renzo’s building, knowing there would be others inside to talk to who wouldn’t be asking me questions I didn’t want to answer.
My gaze scanned the crowd as we moved into the apartment, telling myself I was just getting a feel for who was around, but I knew I was looking for Cinna.
But she wasn’t there.
Not as the music started and most of the food was eaten. Not even when it seemed every other capo had arrived.
Panic was something that slithered up my spine, then wrapped around my throat, tightening with each passing moment.
Had something else happened to her?
Had she gone after these fucks and gotten hurt again?
Or worse?
All because my fucking pride wouldn’t let me reach out first, wouldn’t allow me to show up at her place and check on her?
I was twenty minutes deep in berating myself when suddenly the door opened, and there she was.
Just seeing her was a punch to the gut, my gaze helpless but to scan over her. First, looking to make sure she was okay. Second, of course, just to linger, my mind flashing with memories of her under me, of her over me.
She was dressed like she usually was—black jeans that hugged her curves, her scuffed black boots, the ones without the heels, and some sort of simple black shirt under her bomber jacket.
Unlike me, her gaze didn’t move around the crowd. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she didn’t want to see me, didn’t want to lock eyes, to be forced to make her way over toward me, to try to force our way through a conversation that didn’t give us away.
She shrugged off her jacket, hanging it on the overflowing rack by the door, before making a beeline for the bar.
“I’ll be back. Need a refill,” I said to the small circle I was standing in. None of whom I’d been paying attention to, so they wouldn’t even miss me when I didn’t show back up.
“Lore, you magnificent creature,” I said, moving in at her side as she also made her way to the bar. “Can I make you something to drink?” I asked, knowing our boss’s wife liked her drinks fruity enough to mask the taste of the alcohol.
“Sure,” she said, shooting me a smile as I moved behind the bar where Cinna was finishing a big pour of whiskey.
Which was how I saw them at first because her hand was wrapped around the bottle.
Her knuckles were all busted up.
I mean, it wasn’t rare to see a capo with some minor injuries on them. We still got our hands dirty when a situation called for it. Even Renzo himself partook in violence on occasion, even though he could easily outsource that. But hers were particularly gnarly. Like she’d been working someone over for a long time.