Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I swallow, trying to sound self-assured and not scared out of my wits. “After Dark.”
A moment of silence follows. When he speaks again, all traces of humor are gone from his tone. “After Dark belongs to your husband.”
“It belongs to us. We’re married in community of property, and I’m running the club now, not Saverio.”
He’s quiet for another second.
“As you must be aware,” I say, “all the shares transferred to us after Luigi Bianchi’s death.”
“Yes,” he drawls. “I’m aware.”
“The club has good potential. If you’d like to see the last five years’ profit—”
“I know what After Dark is worth.”
Holding my breath, I ask, “Do we have a deal then?”
“Do you play regularly, Mrs. De Luca?”
“No,” I say honestly. “This will be my first game.”
He chuckles. “You’re a brave woman. I admire that.” He exhales slowly. “You make a very attractive proposition. Just know this, I’m not a man who lets people go back on their word. Once I accept, you don’t get to change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I say, smiling in the hope that he can hear it.
“You’ve got yourself a bet, Mrs. De Luca.” Smooth like an eel and seductive like a seasoned Casanova, he says, “I’ll send you the date and time.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
Saverio
* * *
The doorbell rings just as I’m fixing a mid-morning snack after a particularly strenuous physio session that knocked me back a whole day’s worth of calories and left my knee aching.
If the guards didn’t call to announce the visitor, it must be someone I know.
I make my way to the front door with the help of the crutches. When I look at the screen on the alarm panel, I clench my jaw.
While deactivating the alarm and opening the door, I count to ten. Mary Brennan, my mother-in-law, stands on the porch wearing a peachy smile and a flowery dress. Her hair is brushed, and her eyes are circled with thick blue eyeliner.
“Jesus Christ,” she exclaims with a hand on her heart. “You look as if your face has been through a blender.”
“Thanks,” I say, my smile wry.
At least she’s honest, unlike everyone else who avoids commenting on my rearranged features.
She scrunches up her forehead, leaning closer and studying me through squinted eyes. “Must hurt like a bitch. You’re lucky it’s only on the one side.”
My tone is brusque. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my granddaughter,” she says, smiling wider.
All she manages to achieve with that fake smile is to look like one of those fucking scary dolls with the grimaces.
I look up and down the road. “How did you get here?”
She blows out a puff of air. “I took a taxi. What’s with the fucking interrogation?”
“With what money?”
“Jesus.” She throws her arms in the air. “I got a job.”
I raise a brow.
“What?” she says, pulling her shoulders up to her ears. “Do you think I can’t keep a job? I cleaned up nice. Look at me.” She brushes her palms over her dress. “I’m fucking decent. I have the right to take a taxi and visit my daughter just like any fucking one of the hoity toity assholes living on this street.”
It’s difficult not to laugh in her face. “What kind of job?”
“Uh, typing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that so?”
“Did typing in my day.” She wiggles her shoulders. “It’s the only valuable thing I learned in that fucked-up school for delinquents.”
“Now you suddenly want to see Anya.”
“And her baby. What’s her name again?”
“I don’t think so, Mary.”
She pulls herself to her full height. “You can’t tell me I don’t have the right to see my own fucking child.”
“Yes, I can.” I climb down the step, forcing her to backtrack. “You escaped from the center with no word to us in weeks. Now you show up here and pretend to care about your daughter when you’ve never given a shit about Anya or what’s best for her.”
“I came here straight from the center, but Anya threw me out like trash. Wouldn’t even give me a fucking place to crash.”
That’s news to me. Then again, things were crazy when Anya came home from the hospital and I was still in the ICU. Those days were hectic for all of us. Mary showing up here must’ve been an inconsequential piece of information that got lost in the worry of the bigger scheme of things.
“She did the right thing,” I say.
Clenching her fists, she spits the words at me. “You’re a fucking dog.”
“What do you really want, Mary?”
“Told ya.” She licks her lips. “I wanna see my kid.”
Now that she’s not trying so hard to pretend to be decent, her unpolished accent is back.
“Do you expect me to believe that?” I say. “Don’t fucking waste my time.”
She looks away, her façade dropping when she faces me again. “I need a little money to see me over. Just until next month. I’ll pay it back. I swear.”