Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
He doesn’t get to touch my queen ever again.
“Domenico De Kysa,” he says, oblivious to the situation he’s just landed in.
He offers me a hand but for a moment I resist accepting it. I’d rather cut it off before I offered it to him. But that won’t serve my plans in the long run, so I accept it and shake it, squeezing it to a point of his discomfort while offering him a dark smile.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I say.
He grimaces, tries to hide it, but fails.
“Simon Worthington, the Earl of Eastwood,” he says with a wince as I release his hand. “I’m the owner of the Spirrier Art Gallery in London.”
He speaks with a superior clip to his voice.
As if I am beneath him.
What the hell did Bella see in this guy?
Granted, he’s good looking— I’m sure those blue eyes make panties drop all over the countryside—but no amount of handsomeness can make up for the absence of personality.
Clearly, my wife’s tastes have improved.
Even if they did need a little convincing in the beginning.
“Spirrier.” I give him a blank look. “The name isn’t familiar.”
“I assure you, in art circles, it’s renowned.” He glances at Bella. “Hello, Bella. It’s been a while.”
When he says her name, I want to cut his tongue out just so he can’t ever say it again.
She nods. “Simon.”
Again, when he attempts to greet her with a kiss, I block it, and he looks unsure of what’s going on.
He finally reads the room right.
That I have a problem with him.
A big fucking problem.
He sighs, as if it’s something that happens to him every day because he is so eclipsing and above everyone.
“I see what’s happening. You’re the jealous husband.” He waves it off. “Yes, Bella and I dated, but it’s okay, you have nothing to fear. Bella and I weren’t a right fit. I’m no threat to you, so there’s no need to feel intimidated.”
Which is not the right thing to say to a Mafia don simmering with anger.
I fix him with a look that should tell him to stop talking. “I assure you, nothing about you intimidates me.”
His eyes gleam with amusement, which tells me either this guy has a death wish, or he has his head stuck so far up his ass, he can’t see the danger.
“I mean no disrespect, of course.” It’s a lie. He does. He can’t help himself. “I simply don’t want you thinking there was more to our relationship than there was. It was a convenience more than anything.”
Bella leans toward me while keeping her eyes on her ex. A second ago, she’d looked uncertain about what was unfolding. She was scared for Simon. Now, her uncertainty is gone and replaced with something stoic. Retribution. He’s pissed her off.
“Simon is right, baby. He wasn’t anything worth mentioning really. Gave me a bit of art talk and boring vanilla sex.” She looks at me. “He doesn’t know how to fuck like a don knows how to fuck.”
I can’t help but grin.
God, I love my wife.
“There is no need to be so vulgar,” Simon chides her.
I’ve never wanted to shoot someone in the face as much as I want to shoot this guy.
Which is saying something.
Bella tilts her head. “Not vulgar. Just honest.”
His face pinches. “I can see perhaps now is not the time or place to talk.”
“I happen to disagree,” I say. “Now is the perfect time and place to talk.”
I pull out my phone. Ready to tie up tonight’s loose ends.
I came prepared because I knew he would be here despite the ten-thousand-dollar entry. For a pompous jerk like Simon, it’s important to keep up appearances when the opinions of your peers mean everything, even if it means selling your family estate for way less than it is worth to an overseas investor so you can maintain a lifestyle that says you have a lot more money than you actually do.
If anyone knew he’d sold his family’s legacy to the highest bidder, he’d be ostracized by the blue bloods and social elite.
I hold up my phone so he can see the screen clearly, and press play.
The image on the screen is of him and a young woman whose face we can’t see. The footage is shot from across the room. A hidden camera. Like a predator.
“You’re not filming us, are you?” the young woman says.
“Of course not,” Simon lies.
The woman sounds nervous. “I probably shouldn’t be here. I should go.”
When she turns to leave, Simon yanks her back to him. “Not before we have some fun.”
The woman struggles. “This is making me uncomfortable.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve wanted this all night. Following me around. Making eyes at me. Don’t be a cock tease.”
He kisses her, but the woman whimpers and pushes him away. “Please, stop.”
But Simon ignores her and shoves her to her knees.