Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
My big brother.
“Hey, Stef,” he says. “Freddie told me you were home and said I could just stop over. Is this a bad—”
I slam the door in his face.
My heart’s racing up into my throat. Saul’s here, he’s standing at my house, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks, but he’s suddenly here.
When I first moved in, all I could think about was this exact moment. I dreamed that one of my brothers would show up, usually Saul or Renzo, and they’d tell me this whole nightmare was just some test, and they’d bring me back home.
Except as the days passed and I didn’t hear anything from them, it became clear that was only a delusion and would never, ever happen.
“Stefania,” Davide says. He’s standing behind the couch, one hand pressed to his injured ribs, and frowning. “Let your brother in.”
I turn on him and raise a finger. “Don’t get on my case, okay?”
“Come on. You can’t slam the door on him. Just open up.”
“No.” I put my hands on my hips, aware that I’m being stupid and stubborn. “I’m mad at him.”
Davide sighs and limps over. “Baby, I know, I get it. You feel betrayed. But he’s here now, okay? You might as well hear him out.”
I shake my head and put my hands on his chest to keep him from getting to the door. “I don’t want to hear him out. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted, I haven’t even gotten a fucking email. Screw them. I’m a Bianco now, right?”
He laughs and kisses my cheek. “Yeah, you’re a Bianco, alright. Stubborn as fuck. Now let your damn brother in.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“You’ll regret it. Just talk to him.” He kisses me again. “I’ll be upstairs.”
“Wait.” I hold onto his shirt. But why am I so worried? It’s Saul, my older brother. We’ve always been pretty close. Only I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to him.
Davide gently extracts himself from me and heads up the stairs. I watch him go before turning back and yanking the door open, annoyed with myself.
Saul’s still there. He looks sheepish. “Should we try again?” he asks.
“Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here first.”
“I wanted to check on you.”
“You could’ve called.” I start closing the door.
“Wait!” He pushes it back open and forces his way inside. He glances around at the huge, open room, before sighing. “Okay, you have every right to be pissed. I told Renzo this was a bad idea, but he said it would be easier if we gave you space. Carlo called him a cocksucking piece of shit, and Gian said nothing but you know how he can communicate with like his eyebrows and he was communicating nothing but disapproval, but the Don’s word is law. I’m sorry, Stef, I really am.”
I glare at him. It’s a likely story. No, really, it’s extremely likely—that sounds exactly like a dumbass thing my brothers would do. “You ignored me for my own good. Gee, that feels great.”
“I know. I know. It’s fucked. Does it help if Renzo doesn’t know I’m here?”
“A little bit. I didn’t know you had the balls to go against the Don’s wishes.”
He grins at me. “Seriously. How are you?”
I want to stay pissed, but it’s Saul, and I’ve been dying to tell someone from my family about what my life’s been like since coming out here. I bring him inside, give him some coffee, call him a dick a few more times, and end up telling him all about the Biancos, and especially about Davide.
It comes out in a rush. He laughs pretty hard when I tell him the Giorgia story. “That girl’s an absolute psycho,” he says, shaking his head.
I don’t ask him about home. Halfway through the conversation, I realize I don’t really care what’s happening back there. I mean, I hope Carlo and Gian and even Renzo are happy, that my nieces and nephews are all good, that their wives are thriving, but I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.
“Okay, now it’s time to admit why you’re really here,” I say after we’ve been talking for an hour, and Saul sighs.
“I’m meeting with Alessandro and Simon to go over war logistics,” he admits. “It’s a business thing. But I swear, the second Renzo let me fly over, I planned on seeing you.”
“What a great big brother.” I smirk at him and sip some coffee. “So what were you expecting?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I thought you might be more… I don’t know. You seem good, honestly.”
“I am good,” I say and look toward the stairs. Davide’s up there giving us some room to talk, which I appreciate.
“Maybe you should come back with me to Philly,” he says suddenly. “I mean, if you’re acclimating here, maybe you can come visit. And if this war is as bad as I think it might be—”