Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“This is hard on everyone,” he says, and I know what he means. His family’s struggling with the idea of fighting this war, and Seamus in particular seems to be taking it to heart. “Now, where were we?” He tries to kiss me, but I push him away.
“You were about to call some of your guys to drive you to work. And I was about to go home.”
He groans as I wriggle from his grip. “It’s hard being the boss.”
“You’ll survive.” I give him a hard look. “If I hear that you’re moving around the city alone, I’m going to be pissed. No more of that. Do you understand?”
“I’ll do what I can.” His jaw works and I can tell he’s getting annoyed. I decide that’s the best I’ll get and leave him alone.
But if he thinks this is the last time we’ll talk about this, he’s crazy.
He’s too important to me to let it go.
Chapter 35
Elena
Iwatch from my upstairs window as Brody climbs out of a black town car driven by a man I don’t recognize. Another guy’s sitting up front. He looks annoyed as he comes to the front door and it puts a smile on my face.
My husband actually listened to me.
I like that. It feels strangely powerful. Brody doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes advice easily, at least not when he thinks he’s right, but he made an exception for me.
Downstairs I pour us both some wine and we eat together out back. He talks about his tax clients and we don’t talk about mafia issues for a little while. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend like we were a normal couple.
“You know, I just realized something earlier,” I say, studying my handsome husband as the sun sets over the oasis. If there was ever a more perfect evening, I can’t picture it. “You never told me what you did to Omar.”
His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Really? I didn’t? I can’t imagine why.”
“You called it the Peterson incident, but you never told me what happened. Come on, I’m dying with curiosity.”
He sighs and takes a long drink. “You sure you need to know?”
“Dying to know.” I shuffle my chair closer and lean across the table to kiss him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Well, since you put it that way.” He leans back in his chair, looking amused, and stares out into the sky. His eyes go a little fuzzy as he remembers. “I told you, Omar and I go way back. What I didn’t mention is we were briefly in the same fraternity in college.”
“Really? But why briefly?”
“I got kicked out.”
“Because of the Peterson incident?”
He shrugs and studies his nails, trying very hard to act casual. “Among other things. This happened midway through the first semester. We lived in a house on Peterson Avenue, so we called it the Peterson place. It was this huge Victorian mansion with like fifteen bedrooms and these enormous downstairs spaces I guess where the lord would entertain the local gentry or whatever the fuck.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Anyway, it was all a misunderstanding. But Omar thinks it wasn’t.”
“Spit it out. You’re stalling.”
He grins and waves a hand in the air. “You know how young men are. Lots of drinking, partying, hooking up, that sort of thing. One evening we threw a big gathering, nothing all that special, just a few kegs and loud music. There was this girl and we were dancing, and I guess she took a liking to me.”
I groan and shake my head. “It’s always a girl, isn’t it? Don’t tell me she was Omar’s girlfriend?”
He holds up a hand. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Fine, no more interruptions. But I know where this is going.”
He ignores me and continues. “This girl’s name was Sara. Or maybe Catherine? I don’t remember, but anyway, we were dancing and eventually we were kissing and then she took me by the hand and dragged me to the steps, and that’s where shit went downhill. Because it turned out that the lovely Sara was—”
“Omar’s girlfriend!” I supply happily.
He shakes his head, grinning. “She was Omar’s sister.”
I gasp, covering my mouth. “No. You didn’t.”
“Alas, my beautiful wife, I most certainly did. I took the lovely Sara up to my room and I made love to her—”
“You’re disgusting,” I groan, trying not to laugh.
“I made love to her, like a gentleman, and I made sure to give as much as I got. Which she liked. She liked it a lot. So much that my fellow disgusting frat brothers decided to sit outside my bedroom door and listen.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, covering my face.
“Yes, well, I had no clue my immature brethren were being a bunch of disgusting pigs. I was busy making love and giving the lovely Sara some wonderful orgasms. Many times over.”