Cruel Tyrant Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
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“Baby,” he says and his tone sounds hurt. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then stop trying to get yourself killed.” I finally look at him and it breaks my heart. The pain in his expression mirrors my own. “I need you right here with me.”

“I have to do this.” He takes my hand in his own and holds it. “My whole life it’s like I’ve been running from who I am, but now I have purpose. Now it’s so obvious. I have to fight, baby, because that’s the only way I can live with myself.”

I want to scream at him. I want him to understand that he has more to live for now. What happened to him all those years ago doesn’t have to define who he is now, not if he wants to change.

But the door opens and Elena comes rushing inside followed by a thin, older man wearing sweats and carrying a black bag, and I step away as the doctor takes over and checks Davide for serious injuries.

I pour a glass of wine for myself and for Elena. She accepts her drink with a resigned stare and I shake my head at the question in the tilt of her head.

“Your brother’s going to get himself killed and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

She doesn’t argue. We stand together and watch the doctor work, drinking our wine, and Davide’s eyes never leave mine, but it’s not enough.

Chapter 38

Stefania

Davide sleeps in the next morning. All it took was a vicious beating to finally make him take a break. I’m up early, curled around a mug of coffee, and watching the oasis wake up from the front window. Soldiers wander down the block and more hover on rooftops smoking cigarettes and talking on phones. It wasn’t this active when I first came here, but this war’s getting everyone on edge and security is twice as tight.

I make coffee and lurk around the kitchen until I work up the nerve to make pancakes. Davide comes downstairs around the time I’m finished, and he kisses me on the cheek before sitting down at the island with a grunt, one hand pressed against his broken ribs.

“Doctor said I needed a lot of carbs to fully recover,” he says as I slide a plate in front of him.

“Pretty sure he didn’t say that.”

“Carbs and blowjobs. His exact words.” He waves a fork at me. “You do care about my recovery, don’t you?”

I snort and kiss him gently. “Not even a little bit. You dick.”

He laughs as I get him some coffee the way he likes, a little bit of milk and nothing else. He’s in a much better mood, and some decent sleep seems to have done him wonders. I spend the morning with him talking about everything but what’s important, and he keeps on trying to make me laugh, and I keep on letting him, because I want to feel normal for a little while. And anyway, it feels good to let him joke around, because the guy can be funny when he wants to be.

We end up on the couch together with nothing on the TV, just the two of us sitting together. I ask him questions about his family; he tells me stories about growing up in the city. I tell him stories of my own, about having four asshole older brothers, about being the ignored baby in the family, about being a part of Philadelphia royalty. At some point we’re talking about nothing in that easy-lazy-happy way people get sometimes, chatting about everything and meandering all around, laughing and holding hands, and I can almost forget how I felt the night before.

But doing this with him only reminds me of all the mornings I’ve missed these last couple weeks and all the lonely evenings I have stretching out ahead of me.

There’s a knock and I want to ignore it, but Davide insists I get up and see who it is. “Unless you want to make your poor, injured husband do it for you?”

“I thought you were fine,” I quip as I get to my feet.

He pulls me back with a growl and presses his mouth to mine. “I am fine, baby,” he whispers, which we both know is bullshit.

I go to the door, smiling to myself because despite how annoyed I am with him, that was a really good kiss. And I’m buzzing a bit on having the Davide I’m falling for around, which means I’m far from a level headspace when I open the door to find my brother Saul staring back at me.

It’s like seeing a palm tree in the middle of the desert with no water for miles. How did he get here? What the hell is he doing standing on my stoop? This oasis is so far from Saul and Philadelphia, and it just feels weird, having him standing there and looking at me with that insanely familiar smile of his.


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