Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Are you saying I shouldn’t have apologized?”
“No,” he replies. “You’re right. Clara doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”
“So, why are you chewing me out?”
His eyes snap open wide at my choice of words. Maybe it’s too casual. Or perhaps it brings too much intimacy to mind, even if the phrasing is crude. “Maybe I feel like a jackass because it took a poor actress to apologize where I should’ve.” He turns. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Mafia business?” I say.
He turns back to me, eyebrow raised. “Is there something you want to say to me?” Suddenly, it’s like I see the mob version of him. His eyes burn into me. His tone has become dark, even breathier. “If you’ve got a problem with this life, say it now.”
“Or forever hold my peace?”
I don’t know what instinct possesses me to sass him, but it’s like I can’t stop.
“Very funny,” he grunts, “but my money’s good enough for you.”
“I’d take money from the devil if it meant getting Aunt Rosa the care she needs. She needs pain meds. She needs rehab. She needs therapy. She needs more than I could ever give her alone.”
“That’s where I’m going, Elena … to earn money. So maybe take that judgment out of your tone.”
“It’s difficult.”
“Just pretend you don’t find my work completely sickening,” he growls. “Maybe, when you’re older—”
“Come on. Don’t make this about age. I’m twenty-two. That’s plenty old enough to have an opinion.”
“Yes, and I’m thirty-seven, and I still don’t know …” He grits his teeth as if he’s about to overshare and has just stopped himself. “You can judge if you want. Luckily, this is a business deal and nothing else, right?”
I nod. “Right.”
When he leaves, I feel oddly hollow. I almost want to call him to come back and tell him I’m sorry. Sometimes, my mouth can get me into trouble. I didn’t mean to go at him like that, but it felt like a challenge when he stared me down.
CHAPTER FOUR
DARIO
Paolo drives with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. His fingers drum on the steering wheel as if he can’t wait to light up, his calculating eyes always hinting that he’s working something out. Allessio sits next to him, and I take the back seat.
“You two are the only ones who know the truth,” I tell my two most trusted soldiers. Every man is loyal to the Moretti Family as a whole, but these two are faithful to me specifically. We’ve fought together. We’ve bled together. Allessio and I grew up together.
“It’s going to stay that way,” Allessio says.
“Or off with our heads, be it,” Paolo comments.
I smirk. “You almost sound afraid.”
He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Of you, Dario? Why would that be? You’re such a pussycat.”
With no other men here, we’re able to banter like this. That’s one reason I like these two so much. They almost make me feel normal, like just another soldier in the Moretti army, which is what I feel like most days.
“How’s it going, anyway?” Allessio asks. “She doing a good job?”
I think about telling the truth. She fumbled her first big task, but the idea of badmouthing her doesn’t sit right with me. When she got all sassy back at the house, technically, I should’ve put her in her place, but I didn’t. I almost liked the way she spoke to me, as if she wasn’t afraid, as if I wasn’t some intimidating godlike figure.
“She’s doing amazingly well,” I say.
Allessio nods. “That’s good to hear.”
“But let’s focus on the Romanos,” I say sharply. “Vincenzo is living in a dream world if he thinks we’re going to allow him to take over one of our goddamn charities to launder money. Who does he think he is?”
“He hasn’t escalated to violence,” Paolo remarks.
“That’s the only reason we’ve agreed to talk,” I say bluntly. “This conversation would sound more like the Fourth of July if he’d gone any further. Infiltrating a charity, blackmailing an accountant, that’s one thing. If he were to make a serious move, one misplaced punch, or, worse, a purposefully placed bullet …” I curl my hands into fists. “I’d beat the motherfucker to death myself.”
They nod, knowing I’m being serious. In the back of my head, there’s an ugly voice telling me that a civilian like Elena could never really be with a man who deals so casually in violence, which is good—I tell myself—because this is all a show anyway. If anything, I should be glad my life is too dangerous for her. It means if I were ever to develop real feelings—which I can’t—I wouldn’t be able to act on them sincerely. Her life would change and become far more dangerous than she could imagine.
Paolo pulls up outside the bar. Two Moretti men are waiting for us outside. One quickly rushes forward and opens the door for me.