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)
In the meantime, Obsidian lost its liquor license due to numerous bar fights and disruptions of peace, which Roy told me was the doing of my industrious wife. The loss crippled Raphael. A big portion of his profits came from Obsidian. Those profits as well as the venue were used to move the drugs through his territory. The disgruntled cartels are pulling out one after the other, leaving Raphael Morelli in the lurch. He’s the laughingstock of New York City. Not being able to serve alcohol not only means the club isn’t making money but also that his suppliers are taking losses, which means they have to turn to other clients.
With Raphael weakened financially as well as in manpower and weapons, not to mention the knock his image took with his wife on the run, we’re fast gaining ground, and he knows it. He can’t retaliate, because I sent him a copy of that video Elena made. If he touches any one of us, that video goes viral. It’ll cause even more havoc in his world, something he can’t afford. The humiliation of not only losing his wife but losing her to his enemy no less will certainly ruin him. He’ll lose the respect of the men who back him. His father will disown him for disgracing their family. Michele Morelli has never tolerated being made to look like a fool.
If that doesn’t destroy Raphael, Elena’s testimony that he was behind the attack on our wedding day definitely will. The cops will be on him before he can blink. They’re just waiting for something they can use to make an example of one of us.
I can bring Raphael down with that video and let justice run its course, but that’s not how our vengeance works. We take care of our own judgment. I want to see the look in Raphael’s eyes when he blows out his last breath. I want my face to be the last thing he sees.
As I knew he would, Raphael kept the video a secret. If not, his family wouldn’t be helping him. The Morellis are gathering their forces, harnessing the remaining cartels to fight on their side with promises of deals and big money while I’m biding my time and getting ready for the final battle that will take them all out.
We’ve done the almost impossible, turning the tables on Morelli, and none of this would’ve been possible without Anya. She’s so much more than the woman I always wanted. She’s my partner in every way. Like I told her, she’s my beautiful, generous, frighteningly clever, and revered queen. My men love her. Dante loves her. My suppliers love her. Hell, every single man with a dick in New York City loves her. Benson fucking Bennett, the most hardened criminal in the state, loves her. He sent her flowers, and he only sends flowers for funerals, mostly to the families of the victims he killed.
For now, I push my jealousy away. We’re too close to our objective. Until I’ve put Raphael six feet under, this war requires all my focus. I’m going to put the Morellis out of business before Anya’s party. We’ll celebrate more than her birthday. We’ll celebrate our victory.
These days, I’m eating dinner with Anya and Livy in the dining room while Claire practices rolling over on her play mat next to us. On Saturday, Anya is making garlic bread when I walk into the kitchen to get the cutlery for setting the table. Livy tosses lettuce in vinaigrette at the island counter. The garden table on the covered side of the terrace that’s visible through the window is set with plates, glasses, and eating utensils. Yellow flowers in a vase stand in the middle. With the lanterns and fairy lights lit, it makes a pretty scene.
I grab a radish from the salad bowl and pop it in my mouth. “What’s going on? Are we eating outside?”
“You bet,” Livy says, slapping my hand when I reach for a cherry tomato.
My gaze is drawn to my wife’s ass in her tight jeans. I focus on that irresistible sight even as I nick an olive from the salad before Livy can strike again. “Isn’t it a bit early in the season for outside dining?”
Anya smiles over her shoulder at me. “We switched on the mushroom heater.”
I glance to where the patio heater glows red in the fast-descending night. “Are we celebrating something?”
“Life,” Livy says.
She snatches the bowl away before I can steal a piece of feta cheese and carries it through the back door. She made an effort with her clothes and make-up. A flowing maxi dress reaches her ankles. She paired it with golden cowboy boots and big hoop earrings. The gray strands that escape her updo frame her pixie face. Her coral-red lipstick matches the color of the flowers on her dress.