Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“I’m a very bad man, Greta. Do not mistake me for anything else.”
“I know what you are. I’ve grown up among bad men.”
“And yet you turned out like this.”
My brows snapped together. So many people in my life thought I was good but there was dark inside of me too. “Some might not see me in such a positive light considering I’m turning you into a cheater.”
“You’re not turning me into anything. First of all, I can’t cheat on someone I’m not in a relationship with. Cressida and I are nothing. And I’ve been with other women before you, so if anything, one of them first turned me into a cheater.”
“So I’m one of many.”
Amo looked as if I’d said something outrageous when I’d really just based my words on the facts that he’d given me. His fingers against my cheeks tightened. “Don’t you ever dare thinking this. You are everything.”
“How can I be everything if you still need other women?”
“I don’t.”
I searched his eyes. “I can’t ask you to stop being with other women. It’s not my place. Because I can’t give you what you’d give up.”
“You can ask anything of me, Greta, and I’d give it to you.”
Ask him not to marry Cressida.
To what avail?
I could not take her place. I belonged in Las Vegas. I didn’t want to be a Capo’s wife. I wanted to live in the shadows not as the main attraction of the mafia world.
The door swung open and Amo dropped his hand and took a step back. It was Marcella and her eyes narrowed. “We need to return.” Her voice was hard.
I nodded, because she was right. It was a good thing that she’d burst in when she had because I had been on the verge of asking something of Amo I shouldn’t.
She walked past me and grabbed a jar with olives, a ciabatta and the oil. Together we returned to the dining room.
When I sank down beside Fabiano, he leaned over. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t dare look at Amo again all evening. I was at a complete loss at what to do.
I couldn’t think straight after the kisses Greta and I had shared. She’d left without looking at me again. It was the worst torture, but I knew why she did it. Greta was too fucking good. She didn’t want me to do something stupid.
After dinner, Dad stalked into his office, pissed. I went after him but fingers clamped down on my arm. I stopped and glared down at my sister.
“Sleep over it.”
“Sleep over what?”
“Do you want war? Is it worth it?”
I leaned down, bringing our faces closer together. “Was Maddox worth it?”
Marcella’s expression became pained. “Amo, this is different.”
I shook her grip off. “Will you have my back?”
She shoved my arm. “You know that. Of course. I’m just worried, you idiot.”
I turned and headed toward Dad’s office. I knocked.
“Yes,” Dad growled.
I went inside. Dad was hunched over a drink in his leather armchair. He was in a bad mood, but I knew there would never be a good moment to tell him what I had to say. Better not to ruin one of his few good moods.
Dad frowned over the glass at me. “What now?”
“I need to discuss the wedding with you again.”
The look Dad sent me was unmistakable. He had absolutely no intention to talk about this again. I didn’t give a fuck. He needed to hear this. He thought I was just getting cold feet but this was more.
“I have found a girl I want to marry,” I said.
Slowly his eyes dragged up from his drink again. If possible, his expression was even more pissed than before. “Why do I get the feeling I won’t like what you’re going to say?”
“It’s a good choice,” I said. “She’s from an important family.” The understatement of the fucking year.
Dad narrowed his eyes. “Cressida is a good choice, the choice we all decided on.”
“Fuck, Dad, would you listen for one fucking second? Cressida was a mistake, is still a mistake and will be the worst mistake in my life if I marry her.”
Dad didn’t say anything but his expression didn’t soften in the slightest. I got why he wasn’t impressed with me. I’d done a lot of shitty things over the last five to eight years.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to get through to his thick skull.
“Humor me, who is it?”
“Greta.”
Dad stared, his mouth setting in a thin line. “As in Greta Falcone?”
“Yes. I want her.”
Dad shook his head, chuckling. Then he sobered when I didn’t fall in. “You’re being serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. I want Greta.”
Dad shoved to his feet and carefully put the glass down on the small side table as if he worried that he could throw it at me if he kept it in his hand.