Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
This may be the first time Dante’s noticed me, but I’ve had more than enough time to get acquainted with his features. Handsome, brutish, and strong. Every girl’s wet dream, walking around in suits that cost more than our house like he rules this whole damn town.
Settle down, Nat. Now isn’t the time to slip away into one of your fantasies.
“Then what do you want?” I ask. His intimidating approach is one thing, but it’s the cold look in his eyes that hits the hardest. Even with the smug grin on his face, pleased with whatever thoughts roam his mind, his eyes never lose their sharp edge.
“What I want, you won’t want to give.” He runs a hand through his slicked-back, ebony hair. “You keep your money, keep feeding this house, and I’ll square off your dad’s debt.”
“Baby, it’s going to be okay,” Mom says, but we both ignore her. This isn’t about her or Dad right now.
It’s me and Dante playing a dangerous game I’m about to lose.
“What do you get in turn?” I ask as Dante gets within arm’s length. I can come up with guesses as to what he wants, but it won’t do me any good. I might as well hear it straight from his mouth.
“You,” is all he answers.
I’m locked in place, staring straight at his strong jawline and breathing in his woody cologne. But the thing that surprises me most, or maybe makes me feel more insane, is looking into his eyes. Even those dastardly, deep brown orbs flecked with gold hold beauty in them.
Dante takes my open hand and closes it into a ball around the money I held out to him.
“Me?” I ask out of disbelief, but it wouldn’t take Einstein to figure out what he meant.
He nods. A smile creeps across his face while he drinks my body in one last time. Without another word, he spins on his heel and steps through the door I just entered, humming a tune all the way back to his car.
“You don’t have to get involved in this,” Mom says, snapping me from my daze when Dante’s car pulls off our driveway. She’s in a mess of tears, running toward me with open arms. “You don’t have to fix your dad’s fuck ups.”
A heavy-hearted sigh rolls out of Dad’s chest from behind her. “She’s right, Nat. Don’t get involved with this bad business because of me.”
“I’m not,” I say, with a newfound confidence in my decision. “I want to help, and I’ll do it anyway I can.”
Even if it means being bought by a mafia enforcer.
3
DANTE
The Lion’s Den.
Four thousand square feet of green grass, dense woods, and a single mansion in the center of it all. Armed men line the perimeter while others march in patrols across the vast, green expanse. The rest roam the intestines of the mansion with duty-bound smiles hiding their fears.
Somehow, among the enormous crowd of soldiers and staff alike, I’ve never felt more alone.
Natalie Pryce is to blame for this sudden emptiness brewing inside me.
Loneliness isn’t the curse everyone makes it out to be when you don’t have anyone you’d rather be with. But the instant I saw her, I never wanted to be without her by my side again. Even the hour-long drive to Don Salvatore Lione’s mansion left me aching for another look into the deep blue ponds of her eyes. Get lost in them and the daydreams that she’d actually want to be with a man like me.
But that’s all they’ll ever be, right? No matter what happens tonight, she’ll always view me as a monster. As the demon I’ve found so much pleasure in becoming and maintaining.
Fuck.
“You didn’t come across any trouble?” Don Lione asks, squaring up against the stacks of hundreds I set down on his table. “I know you’re good at what you do, Dante, but I expected a few holdouts.”
We’re sitting in his office, sharing a glass of whiskey while we talk.
“There was one.” My mind returns to her. Natalie. A guardian angel who swooped in to save her father in the nick of time. He can count his lucky fucking stars. Had she arrived a few minutes later, I’d have taken his finger.
“Who?” Salvatore brings his whiskey to his nose and eases back in his deep red leather throne.
He isn’t angry, against what I let Luke believe. He rarely ever is on missed payouts. The money he gives these people is barely a drop in the ocean of his wealth. Sending me to collect these debts isn’t about his return. It’s about sending a message and demanding power in this town. The more people he can get under his thumb, the further his influence extends.
“Luke Pryce,” I say, taking a seat opposite him.
“The factory worker who lost his legs?” For someone who doesn’t seem to care all that much, his memory of these people surprises me.