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)
I stare at him, barely comprehending. Is this real? Can he be serious right now? “You came to me… for help.” I say it flatly.
He nods eagerly. “I came to beg for mercy. Please, Camille. I know I was rough to you sometimes, I wasn’t the best husband—”
I take two steps forward. “You nearly killed me half a dozen times,” I say with venom. “You made my life hell.”
He grimaces. “Camille. I know. I’m sorry. I’m here putting my life in your hands now to atone for all the stupid shit I did. This whole thing, it’s because I never stopped loving you, even when I lost control and did all those shitty things. I’ve been fighting for you, but I get it, I lost. Now I’m here, begging for my life. Please, Camille—”
“I hate you,” I say and the word feel like throw-up heaving from my throat. Acid, bile, hate. “I despise you so much. And you are so much worse than I ever imagined, if you’re stupid enough to come here and beg me, of all people, for mercy.” I glare at him with absolute blackness in my heart. “I have no mercy for you. There is no mercy in this world for you, Christopher. I want you to suffer all the pain and misery you made me suffer. I want to watch Evander cut you into little pieces.” I lean forward, staring into his terrified, sweating face. “I hate you so much, and once you’re gone, I’ll never think about you again. The world will forget you. I’m a Kazan now. You’re nothing.”
“Camille, please,” he says, moaning with terror.
I turn my back. “Alonzo, I think my husband will want this man alive.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Kazan.”
“Wait, Camille, we can talk, please!” There’s a curse and a sharp grunt mixed with the sound of something solid smacking into something less solid. I turn to see Christopher lying on the pavement, blood rolling from a head wound.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
Alonzo shrugs. “Probably not. Concussed real bad though.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a call.
The world recedes as I stand staring down at my abuser’s bleeding face. He lies on the ground, eyes staring at nothing. He’s not dead—I watch his chest rise and fall—but he looks so weak, so small, crumpled up like that at my feet.
All this time, I was so afraid of this man. This lump of meat. This worthless nothing.
Christopher was my torturer. He was the monster that came for me in the night.
Now, he’s nothing.
Tears wrench themselves from my chest as I sob quietly into my hands.
Chapter 58
Evander
Two men sit across from me in my office. Ciro Nasato and Lucca Verga both wear crisp, decent black suits, their hair slicked back, rings on their fingers, watches gleaming as if recently cleaned. Ciro’s the older of the two, heavier than Lucca, with dark bags under his eyes. Lucca’s in his early twenties, athletic and muscular, a good-looking young man, but an ugly red wound that’ll turn into a nasty scar through his cheek and ear tells me a lot about what these men have gone through in the last few weeks.
“How can I trust that you two speak for the Pavone Famiglia?” I ask, head tilted to the side. I spin a glass of whiskey on a coaster on my desk. I don’t want to admit that I’m enjoying this, but watching two powerful Italian mobsters bow and scrape and beg does bring me some pleasure.
“There’s nobody left to disagree, Lord Kazan,” Ciro says, bowing his head respectfully. “It’s only me and Lucca now.”
“Which of you do I call Don?” I ask, trying not to smile.
“Ciro is my underboss,” Lucca says, sitting forward on his chair.
I give him an appraising look. The kid’s strong and must be clever if he made it this far, but I catch an ugly frown from his supposed second-in-command. If Lucca’s the Don, it’s not because everyone likes him.
That means he’s someone to watch.
“All right then, Don Pavone.” I gesture for Lycus to bring him a glass of whiskey. Lucca accepts it with a nod and takes a small sip. Smart man, keeping his wits about him. “I want to hear your opening offer.”
“The Pavone Famiglia would like to redraw the boundary lines of our respective organizations,” he says formally. “We will give up territory, businesses, and money, and swear that we’ll stay within our boundaries for as long as I’m in control.”
Which won’t be long, I’d guess. But I only nod. “What else?”
He hesitates. “We can, ah, offer you more. The dockworkers’ union, of course.”
“I already have them back.” I made a very large payment to their greedy fuck boss that very same morning. Lucca pales slightly, and I smile, shaking my head. “Keep trying.”
“We can, uh—” He clears his throat. “More generous payments. And some sportsbooks. Good gambling rackets. A few clubs—”