Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I quickly push my upper body from the wooden floor and stare in total shock at the group of men who belong to one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra.
Without another word directed at me, the men trash the living room before leaving.
It’s only then the realization of what happened sinks in. My shock spirals into a chaotic mess of horror, panic, and bleakness.
This way of life is going to kill me soon. I just know it.
Getting up off the floor, a cry escapes me when I accidentally step on a shard of glass. One of the glass doors of the liquor cabinet shattered when my body hit it. I didn’t even notice.
Careful not to step on any more shards, I limp to the bathroom and sit on the side of the tub so I can remove the piece of glass from my foot.
I pull my first aid kit from the cupboard and use an antiseptic wipe to clean the cut before putting a bandaid on.
Letting out a hopeless sigh, I stare at the drops of blood on the tiled floor.
It’s happened before where men have come looking for Giorgio, but it’s the first time one of them hurt me. Usually, Giorgio’s the one getting beaten up by them.
Hopefully, they’ll kill him tonight so I can live the rest of my life in peace.
Guilt floods my soul, and I motion the sign of the cross.
Forgive me, Father. Today’s just been very stressful.
Rising to my feet, I’m careful not to put too much pressure on the cut and limp to the living room so I can clean up the mess.
I’m so tired.
A little help would be nice.
Not that I’m being pushy, Father, but can you send me a fairy godmother to clean up this mess?
With a heavy sigh, I get to work, and once the living room has been restored to its former glory, minus the glass panel in the liquor cabinet, I slump down on the couch.
How did they get in?
Darting to my feet, I hurry to the front door. The lock isn’t broken, which means Giorgio didn’t lock it when he left.
Bastard!
Shaking my head, I turn the key. I almost secure the deadbolt, but then Giorgio will kill me for sure for locking him out of the house.
Letting out another tired sigh, I mutter, “Just another day in the Cosa Nostra.” I walk to the kitchen to wash the dishes, and as I pour water into the sink, I whisper, “It’s getting too difficult to continue living like this. I just want it all to end.”
Chapter 8
Angelo
I throw down a Jack of Hearts and mutter, “One card.”
Carlo, one of Damiano’s men, slides a card my way, and when he sees me frown at the Jack of Spades, he gives me an apologetic look.
Tonight’s game is being hosted at Damiano’s house. We each take turns to host a game, and I had mine the last time we got together.
“You have zero poker face,” Dario says with a mischievous grin while he slides another chip into the growing pile. “I raise you all another hundred thousand.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
I’m on a losing streak, and they’re all getting a kick out of it.
Damiano’s also frowning, and when Renzo and Franco throw down their hands to bow out, Dario lets out a chuckle.
Damiano narrows his eyes at Dario. “If I catch you cheating, you’re going to bleed.”
“I never cheat.”
“Right,” I mumble. Knowing I have a shit hand, I fold. “I need a drink.”
Carlo moves to the bar and pours a round of bourbon while Damiano matches Dario’s bet.
The two men stare at each other for a while before Dario adds another two chips to the pile.
“Fuck you,” Damiano mutters as he bows out.
Dario starts to laugh as he gathers the chips, which has Damiano demanding, “Show us your hand.”
Dario turns the cards over, and it’s the shittest hand I’ve ever seen.
I pin my friend with a dangerous look. “Do you want to die tonight?”
Dario just shrugs. “It’s all about the poker face, brother.”
“How’s business for everyone?” Renzo asks before popping a pretzel into his mouth.
“Busy,” Franco replies. “I got new printers, so the cash is flowing again.”
Printing counterfeit cash is where most of Franco’s profits lie.
“Things are quiet on my side,” Renzo mentions.
“Your shipment of arms will dock next week, then you’ll have something to do,” I say before taking the tumbler of bourbon from Carlo.
A smile spreads over Renzo’s face. “Thank fuck.”
Damiano glances at me, and seeing the serious expression in his eyes, I ask, “What’s on your mind?”
“One of your men owes me half a mil.”
Christ.
“Who?”
“Giorgio Romano.”
The fucking fucker.
My eyes flick from Damiano to Renzo, then Franco, before settling on Dario. “Does he owe anyone else money?”
The other three shake their heads.
I turn my attention to Damiano. “He’s a problem I’m currently dealing with.”