Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Images of my father fighting with my mom, or sitting on the couch with a beer, or not present at all flashed through my mind.
“He died before we could make many good memories,” I said. But deep down I knew that happy memories would have been few and far between even if Vitiello hadn’t killed him. But having a bad father was better than not having one at all.
“But you miss him?”
Most of all, I missed what could have been. I missed that we never got the chance to have a good relationship. I missed that my old man never got the chance to be a good dad. “Of course,” I said, but the words sounded hollow.
Marcella tilted her head so her hair fanned out like pitch on the pillow. “What about your mom?”
“She became my uncle’s old lady a few weeks after my old man got killed.”
That should answer her question. My mom never really missed my dad. She might have missed the position as the old lady of a prez if my uncle hadn’t immediately made her his.
I motioned at her. “Your turn.”
I still couldn’t get over the fact that Marcella Vitiello was lying in bed beside me, in my black T-shirt and my boxers, and talking to me as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“You want me to tell you my favorite childhood memory? Are you sure you want to hear any stories about my dad?”
I sure as fuck didn’t want to imagine Luca Vitiello as a good dad. I wished Marcella’s memories of him were as bleak as mine of my dad, but I wasn’t a pussy. I could take the truth. “Go ahead.”
Marcella’s gaze became distant, then a soft smile curled her lips, one I’d never seen on her usually so controlled and cautious face before. “When I was seven, I had a phase when I was convinced monsters were in my walk-in closet and under my bed. I could hardly sleep. So Dad made sure to check every possible hiding place in my room every evening, and even when he came home late in the night after a difficult workday, he still snuck in my room and made sure I was safe. Once he’d checked the room, I knew the monsters were gone and I always fell asleep within minutes. But seconds before I drifted off, Dad would always kiss my forehead.”
I couldn’t imagine Luca Vitiello as Marcella described him, as the loving, caring father. He had been the monster that still haunted seven-year-old me. When I thought about him, I always saw the ax and knife wielding madman who slaughtered the people who were like my family. He was the man who’d been our enemy even before I had been born. This wasn’t a new feud, but it was one to last generations.
Marcella regarded me. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe that’s how you see him, but it doesn’t change my feelings toward him. Nothing can erase my hatred, nothing ever will.”
“Never say never.”
“You’ll rather learn to despise your ol’ man before I’ll forgive him, that’s a fact, Snow White.”
I cringed. This was the second time I called her by that name outside of my head.
Her eyebrows puckered and she regarded me as if she was trying to see right into my brain.
“Snow White?”
I shrugged and rolled over on my back, staring up at the ceiling. She kept watching me expectantly.
“Come on, don’t be surprised. I can’t believe no one’s ever called you Snow White before. Black hair, pearlescent skin, red lips.”
One dark brow twitched up, and I realized I was only digging myself a deeper grave with every word out of my stupid mouth. The ghost of a smile passed her lips, and it was all I could do not to pull her on top of me and kiss her.
Women have a certain place in motorcycle clubs, and it isn’t on equal footing with men. They were only supposed to speak when spoken to and had to please their man. I’d never just talked to a woman for more than the meaningless chitchat before and after sex, and if possible, I’d even avoided that. The only woman I’d ever shared a halfway decent conversation with was my mom, but in recent years, I’d closed off even around her.
I wasn’t sure what it was about Marcella that made me want to talk, or at least listen. She was sophisticated and chose her words carefully. I’d never talked to a woman who was even half as educated and intelligent as her. And sometimes I just enjoyed getting a reaction out of her. “What happened with your fiancé? Did he dump you for not putting out?”
Her lips thinned. “Girls like me don’t get dumped. I broke up with him.”
“So fucking arrogant. You think you’re a gift to men that no one would dump your perky ass?”