Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
You respect women.
Your mom.
Your sister.
Your aunts.
The woman on the street selling her body.
It doesn’t matter who they are or what they do.
It’s your job to honor them.
Now that doesn’t mean a whole ton of us didn’t sleep around, but we were never cruel, and every single girl knew what they were getting: a piece of mafia ass.
I smile again as she throws her head back and laughs at something Serena says while pouring her another glass of wine. It’s impossible to be sad in her presence even though I want to be. I want to feel all my feelings. All of them. Even if they hurt so bad I can’t breathe.
It’s so hard when you want something and have a forced proximity of a choice that will never end with anything good. It’s like watching everyone around you full of joy and wishing you could be the same but knowing it won’t ever be okay.
“So…” Maksim elbows me, then grabs hold and pulls me to the side. “How are things?”
“Focus on yourself,” I say through clenched teeth, irritated that he can see through all my bullshit without even trying.
He rolls his eyes, so typical of Maksim. He’s either dead serious or belongs on SNL, nothing in the middle. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just do that because it relieves so much stress focusing on myself.” He glares. “Plus, I’ve got Izzy. I’m fine. I’m happy as a clam that just shit out a pearl.”
“That’s not the right phrasing.”
“What? They technically shit pearls.”
“I think what you mean to say is a clam that makes a pearl, like a baby.”
He stares me down then goes, “Nah, that’s not it. Hey Ash, do clams shit pearls or make them?”
“Duh, they shit them,” Valerian says, coming up for air long enough to actually speak words rather than maul his wife’s face.
“I WILL SHIT YOU!” Ash yells, then throws a cup in their direction like he’s ready to start a war all over again.
“Dude, they’re married. Let it go,” I advise.
Maksim just shakes his head. “Shouldn’t we be more concerned about his mental health than mine? She’s barely six weeks pregnant, and he’s picking a fight with everyone. Yesterday he yelled at the rooster.”
I do a double-take. “You have roosters now?”
“Not us, them. Chase finds it soothing in the morning, but really I think he did it just to piss everyone off, Ash included.”
I really have nothing to say to that, so I don’t say a word. I just shake my head and let the chaos around me implode to the point that hours later, everyone is either sleeping, watching TV, or having sex in some random part of the house I won’t ever visit again.
And of course, there’s Del.
She’s the only other one still up, sipping her wine, watching something on the giant screen in the theater room.
I’ve been with everyone but not really with them, not present, just watching things unfold, calculating, wondering what my future might look like since my responsibility will be all of this.
Sure, Ash is one of our leaders, and he always will be when it comes to the second generation of the mafia, but as far as authority?
That’s all me.
The pressure gets so intense sometimes I just want to run.
But what good would that do? Would that help my cousins? My best friends? Would that have saved Del all those months ago?
The answer is a resounding no.
So running would be to save myself, and from what?
Everyone dies.
Everything ends.
I can’t stop it, just like I can’t keep myself from breathing.
I rub my eyes, exhausted as hell, and join Del on the couch. I don’t look at her left hand, the same one that wears a diamond ring my family may as well have shoved onto her finger the minute we realized what we had to do.
It wasn’t romantic.
I wonder then, how she will tell our story? If she could tell it her way? If we have kids, maybe when we have kids, will we say it was an arrangement, or will she lie about a beautiful story where the king saves the queen?
“You look tired,” she says without even looking at me.
I snort. No shit. “I’m always tired.”
“I bet.” She nods her head like she knows then turns to me. “You really should sleep more.”
I want to kiss those full lips so bad it’s physically painful to sit still. I watch her instead. I look into her green eyes, and I tell myself that in another life, this would be the moment, you know the one.
The one where you kiss the girl. Confess your love. Tell her all the amazing reasons you want to spend your life with her and pray to God you have enough time to spend with her until you burn in Hell for all the sins you’ve committed.