Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
He waves that away. “I’m not blaming you. I’m only marveling at this massive fucking piece of shit coincidence we’re both dealing with right now.” He takes a slow breath and lets it out. “I need you to do something for me.”
“If you want me to leave, then I’ll leave. I’ve been enough trouble for you already. I’ll rent a car with what I saved from the diner and—”
“No, asteraki mu,” he says and the nickname sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. Despite everything, he’s still calling me his little star, and I don’t understand why. “I need you to do something else.”
“What?” I ask, and I know that if it’s within my power, I’ll do it. I owe Evander a lot more.
“Take me to your husband.”
I sit back and stare at him like he just slammed a knife into his own hand.
Take him to my husband? Take him to Christopher?
Why in the ever-loving hell would I do something so magnificently stupid?
“I can’t,” I say and try to left my chin, try to seem like I’m in control here, even though I am so clearly not.
“This is going to get very messy very quickly unless I end it this instant.” Evander’s gaze burns into mine. “Take me to Conti and let me deal with this unfortunate situation. I promise, I will make sure he never bothers you again, and you can go on with your life as it is now. But if you don’t, he will keep coming. You know he will.”
I let out a strangled groan. Evander’s right—Christopher will never stop, not until he gets me back. As much as Christopher says he loves me, what he really loves is owning me. He’ll keep on coming until I’m locked up in that house again, living in fear every day of my miserable existence.
Or until I’m dead.
“I can’t,” I whisper, not because I’m afraid for Evander or for Christopher, but because I’m terrified for myself.
I don’t want to see my ex-husband ever again.
And I sure as hell don’t want Evander getting anywhere near that psychopath.
“You can and you will. Stand up, Camille, and put yourself together. We are going to deal with your ex together.”
I meet his gaze and the determination there sends a wave of strength into me.
Evander’s right—there’s no running or hiding anymore.
I left Christopher and our marriage is over. He has to know that, and the sooner I face him and make it clear, the sooner we can all move on.
Even though I know it won’t be that simple.
I slide out of the booth and look at him. “Even though this is the last thing in the world I want to do right now—let’s do it anyway. I’ll show you where I used to live.”
Chapter 14
Evander
I park in front of a decent townhouse in the Pilsen neighborhood directly south of Little Italy and University Park. It’s a vibrant place filled with murals, restaurants, cafes, and Italians. Lots and lots of Italians.
The Pavone Famiglia always had a presence in Chicago. Their roots went back generations, and they held on to the relatively small Little Italy for years and years. Mostly, their home base was Philadelphia, but they ran some rackets and made some books among their own people for the most part, and we ignored them for a long while. They didn’t give us much trouble—we controlled better turf and outnumbered them ten-to-one—until the last few years. More and more of their members began moving out from the East Coast and putting down roots in Chicago, swelling their numbers, and pushing their borders in all directions.
The block is nice, shady, and quiet. It doesn’t look like the kind of place a mobster would make a home.
But looks don’t mean a goddamn thing in this business.
“You should stay here,” I say and reach across her to pull a gun from the glove box.
Her eyes widen. “What do you need that for?”
“Insurance.” I shove it into my waistband. “I’ll have a talk with your ex-husband, make sure he understands how things are, and we’ll head back when it’s over.”
Based on the look she’s giving me, she assumes I’m about to murder Conti in cold blood. And I’d be lying if the thought didn’t occur to me.
I don’t know the details of what he did to her, but I understand it was bad enough for Camille to run away with nothing to her name but some stolen credit cards and the clothes on her back.
That’s something only a truly desperate woman would do.
Conti deserves a bullet in the skull, but I’ve learned the hard way that diplomacy is sometimes the best first option.
I can punish him later, once he’s no longer expecting it.
I open the door and step out. To my great frustration, she gets out too. “I’m coming with you.”