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)
I leave the office and find Renzo waiting in the entryway reading something on his phone. He looks up and struggles to his feet. “Done already?”
“We reached an understanding. I’ll come back tomorrow if you can have the paperwork ready.”
“Tomorrow.” His expression flattens. “That’s fast.”
“No reason to wait around. I’m anxious to get back to my family.”
He nods very slowly. “Tomorrow then. I’ll have everything ready.”
“Thank you, Don Renzo.” I walk to the door, but he calls my name, and I pause.
“You’ll treat her well,” he says, and it isn’t a request. I look back and catch a glimpse of the Don Renzo that won a war against the combined strength of two crime families while building new, powerful alliances. He is not a man to be underestimated.
“I will,” I agree, because as heartless as I may be, I have no reason to make her life miserable, and because this stupid itch under my skin’s making me want to go back to the office, touch her cheek with the backs of my knuckles, and kiss her again.
Which isn’t supposed to happen anymore, and I don’t know what to do if Stefania Rossi’s making me feel things I’ve been running from for a very long time.
Chapter 7
Stefania
I sit in the middle of my apartment, the only place I’ve lived that’s been entirely mine, and I can’t bring myself to put my stuff into boxes.
Rationally, I should be packing right now. I’m supposed to marry Davide tomorrow morning, and after that, we’re taking a flight out to Chicago, and we’ll be out there for at least a few months before we visit here again. That means if I don’t pack up my stuff, it’ll be left behind—though my brother very kindly offered to continue to pay my rent for a while just so I have a place to store everything I’m not bringing. At the very least, I need clothes and toiletries and all that kind of stuff.
But since I’m not in a rational mood, I’m just sitting here staring at the wall and trying to compose a text to Giorgia.
Hey, babe! Getting married to a stranger because his family needs guns and my family needs drugs, and I’m moving to Chicago, it was great knowing you!
There’s really no easy way to explain the situation to her, and since she’s not a part of the families, I genuinely have no clue how much I can even say.
Which leaves me in this hellish position of either ghosting on my closest friend or trying to explain something to her that she’ll never be able to understand.
I’m deep in a depression hole and thinking about using one of those chatbot AI things to compose this message when someone knocks at my door. I stare and wait for them to go away, but they knock again, and I’m really not in the mood for this shit, but it might be important. I climb to my feet and shuffle over.
“I’m probably the last person you want to see right now,” Maddie says, looking really sheepish. “But I figured you needed to talk to someone, and here I am.”
I stare at Renzo’s wife. She joined the family under weird circumstances a while back—she was Renzo’s office manager, then they made some marriage deal, and now here they are—and while it wasn’t exactly an arranged marriage, their relationship started out purely as a business deal. But they fell in love, had a baby, and ever since, she and I have been close, and I can’t imagine the Rossi family without having her around.
Which is why I yank her into my apartment and hug her tight as all my emotions slam right into me like a sack full of bricks.
“Okay, sweetie, okay,” she says, rubbing my back as I let rip and cry right into her shoulder, not even trying to hold back. I mean, screw it, why bother pretending like this is fine? If anyone understands how I feel right now, it’s her.
She gets me down onto the couch, rummages around in my kitchen, finds some wine, pours two glasses, and joins me once I’ve calmed down enough to form a coherent sentence. I wipe my face with some tissues and drink half the glass in two big gulps before leaning my head against the cushions and groaning.
“This is such a mess,” I say and close my eyes against more tears. “Seriously, Mads, I’m marrying some random guy and he’s dragging me to Chicago. Can you imagine? Chicago? I’d rather bury myself in freaking Delco than go out to Chicago.”
“I hear it’s a cool city,” she says and puts a hand on my knee when I give her a death stare. “I’m sorry, I really, really am. I know this isn’t easy.”
“Easy? This fucking sucks. Hard is one thing, but this is, like, nightmarish. What am I even going to do out there?”