Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
That hits me harder than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Not when I was shot, not when I was stabbed, and not when Samuele beat me to teach me a lesson. I’ve endured a hellish amount of things, but with the tightness in my chest and the way my lungs rub together like sandpaper, it seems losing Siân affects me the most. There’s a name for feelings like that, a name I’ve never cared to say to anyone before.
Instead of taking the elevator, I opt for the stairs, running down them so fast my bare feet slap against the concrete surface. I grab onto the railing because I miss a couple and come extremely close to face planting.
I continue, one floor at a time. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Twenty-one. I call them out in my head, hoping to help keep me from going batshit crazy. There was no telling when she left or if she was taken. None of her stuff seems to be missing, but then again, if I were running away from my captor, I wouldn’t take anything with me either.
I’d leave it all behind so that nothing holds me down. But where would she go? She doesn’t have any money, nor does she know anyone here but me. I also doubt she’d leave without her precious Cynthia.
Finally, I make it to the bottom level and burst through the door like a madman. It leads into the lobby area next to the elevators. The sudden reaction draws scorned glances from those around me. But fuck them, my concern is Siân, not a bunch of people I know nothing about.
Dismissing their glances, I continue, looking in every direction, craning my neck to see around the other guest. It doesn’t surprise me the number of people who are here, it is a popular tourist location, and we’re in the dead of summer. The sun beams in through the large floor-to-ceiling window, blinding me. Squinting, I head past the lobby area, cutting in front of the line of people. Grunts and groans sound out behind me, but I ignore them.
“La ragazza con cui sono venuto, l'hai vista?” I say to the clerk who checked us in. The girl I came with, have you seen her?
“Sig. Russo. Credo che stia facendo colazione.” She points to the left. Mr. Russo. I believe she’s getting breakfast.
I can’t breathe. Just like that, the restriction around my lungs releases, and I draw in the biggest breath. But as quick as the relief hits, anger sets in. Why would she leave the room without me? Doesn’t she know how stupid that was?
Someone literally tried to strangle her, and she’s getting breakfast. I swear she loves getting under my skin, doing things that she has to know will upset me. And now, the need to punish her has replaced the fear I had over losing her.
Heading to where the breakfast area is set up, I fish my way through the sea of bodies. Short, tall, skinny, and plump, I survey the crowd in search of her. Then I spot her, all the way at the back of the room, pulling a bagel out of the toaster.
I storm up to her, presenting myself at her back, my front against her soft ass. She startles and yelps when I grab her by the arm and bring my mouth to her ear.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I seethe.
“About what?” she questions nervously, holding her plate to her chest with the bagel still in her hand.
“Let’s go.” I pull her away, but she stands her ground, though not as effectively as I’m sure she’d like.
She stumbles against me. “Christian, wait,” she lets out. “My bagel.”
Snatching the bagel and throwing it against the wall, I yell, “Fuck the bagel.”
She gasps. “Why would you do that?” She follows the bread as it lands with the floral wallpaper before shattering into pieces.
Getting up in her face, I force her to look at me. “Back upstairs now.” I point toward the exit, and when she doesn’t move, I grip her bicep and force her to move.
“You’re hurting me,” she cries while fighting to free herself.
“Hey amico. Lasciala andare.” A stranger interferes with his hand on my forearm. Hey, man. Let her go.
Wrong move.
Before he can even attempt to protect himself, I draw back and smash my fist against his nose. “Fatti gli affari tuoi, cazzo.” Mind your fucking business.
I cock my arm back again, ready to clock him once more, but Siân grabs me, wrapping her tiny arms around my large one.
“Stop. Stop. Let’s go.”
I peer back at her with a fistful of the man’s shirt. Blood gushes from his nose, and I’m sure it’s broken. Serves him right for getting between me and what’s mine. And if it weren’t for Siân pleading for him or the room full of people, I would do a lot more than busting his shit. He’d be a statistic, and I wouldn’t think twice about it.