Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I’m just a little bummed about the way Vinnie left things.
I force myself to eat because I know I’ll feel better soon. I don’t let myself feel bad anymore.
Once I’m done with my breakfast, Mom collects my plate and empty glass of OJ, and she gives me a smile, leaving me with my coffee. I grab my phone to text CJ.
I’m coming into Austin today and would love to see you. Lunch?
She texts me right back.
Thought you couldn’t drive.
I’m calling an Uber.
Perf! Actually today is a great day. The kids are at school, and I have very few chores for Mrs. P. Come to the house and I’ll make us a delicious lunch. This house has so much food in it, and I’m allowed to use whatever I want.
She’s okay with you having guests?
Absolutely. At least while the kids aren’t home. When they’re home, she’s pretty clear that they’re my priority, but she also made it clear that her home is my home, and I should feel free to have friends over. Just no overnight guests.
Great. I’m going to catch an Uber soon and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.
Fabulous. I’ll see what I can pull together for lunch. Can’t wait to see you!
I text back a smiley emoji and then turn back to Mom. “I’m going to order my Uber. It’ll be a long drive, so I’m going to go ahead and get moving.”
“All right, Raven. If you need anything at all, you know who to call.”
“I know. Thanks.” I rise, take my cup of coffee, and head back to my room, where I pull up the Uber app to order a ride. It usually takes at least a half hour to get an Uber to come into the ranch, and just as I suspected, today is no different. I have forty-five minutes before the driver arrives, so I settle in with my cup of coffee, and I grab a book off my shelf.
But I stare at the pages, the words never reaching my brain.
I’m lost in fantasy about last night.
And Vinnie Gallo.
24
VINNIE
I sit in my grandfather’s office, looking him straight in his bloodshot brown eyes.
I’ve seen pictures of my grandfather when he was younger.
He’s nearly a dead ringer for me.
I always hated that, especially after he brutally violated me when I was eighteen.
He and I have the same olive skin, the same dark hair. His eyes are the same color as mine, but even in his youth, his held a dark coldness that no picture of mine can match. Even after everything I’ve been through—and I’ve been through a lot, especially during my time abroad—I still see a little life, a little goodness, in my eyes every morning when I look in the mirror. I’m determined not to let that die out like my grandfather did.
Mikey always looked more like my father. Savannah favors him as well. Hair that’s not quite as dark, eyes not quite as brown, fairer skin.
But me?
Except for my eyes—God willing—I’m looking in a mirror at myself in fifty years.
And I don’t like what I see.
“Grandfather,” I say, “do you remember when I was seventeen and I walked in on you and Dad meeting with some drug kingpin named Diego Vega?”
“Of course I do.” Grandfather chuckles. “Vega.”
I furrow my brow. “Do you find that amusing?”
He strokes his chin. “Not amusing so much as a bit nostalgic. Your father and I considered him an ally at one point, but he turned out to be a bad seed.”
“Oh?” I cock my head.
“He ended up fucking up a huge deal, and his men mutinied on him. He got demoted to overseeing a bunch of lowlife pushers.” His eyes sparkle deviously. “His work got sloppy, so we had him taken care of.”
I hold my jaw in place, but it wants to drop.
My grandfather took credit for Vega’s demise?
Motherfucker…
I keep my face noncommittal.
“I see. What did he do to piss you off?”
“This happened eight years ago,” Grandfather says. “What does it matter?”
“If I’m going to take over for you,” I say, “don’t I need to know what someone did to earn your disfavor?”
Grandfather looks up at me and a small grin spreads over his face. A grin reeking of malice, of sadism, of…pride, perhaps?
“He was a hothead,” Grandfather says. “He could no longer be trusted.” He slowly returns his gaze to me. “Why the sudden interest in this man, Vincent?”
Hothead? Seems accurate. Only a hothead would give a damn about a low-level pusher like Eagle Bellamy. A true boss would leave it to his minions. Something about Eagle Bellamy irked Vega and he couldn’t stay out of it. If he had, he might still be alive today.
Or maybe not, if my grandfather wanted him gone.
Hothead. If there’s one thing I can say about my grandfather, it’s that he’s not a hothead. He’s cool and calculating.