Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I just want to wash my skin and figure out what I’m going to do now.
“That would be great. Thank you.”
It’s a silent drive. I’m not sure where our friendship will go now that I’m not working at Vino’s anymore.
“What will you say to the police about last night?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
I sense his eyes shift to me, then back to the road. “Nothing, I value my life.”
My gaze cuts to his side profile. “You talk about Luca like he’s the boogieman.” Why does he have such disdain for the man?
“Luca?” he says, a hint of shock in his voice. “Mr. Leto is worse than the boogieman, Alyssa. He doesn’t need shadows and myths to incite fear. He comes at you in the daylight. Do you know what happened to Mr. Angelo, the man who made a scene at Vino’s with you?”
Thud.
“That was a gas leak or something.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I want to snatch them back. I sound naïve. Have I been naïve?
We pull up to the edge of the car lot at Swan. Simon grips his steering wheel, bowing his head.
“Luca Leto is king, and his rules are law. If someone wrongs him—hell, even looks at him in a way he finds disrespectful—they find themselves dead in a gas leak or floating in a river. The man who killed his mother was found with his entire family skinned and hanging from a bridge.”
My heart pounds so wild and loud in my chest, I can feel it in my neck, wrists, and ears.
It should rise fear within me, but all I can think is that man killed his mother—he should have been punished.
Should I be punished for killing mine?
Tension pinches his features. “Mr Leto, Luca, built an empire of legit businesses, but it all stemmed from the blood and carnage his father paved for him. Their hands are filthy, fucking rotting in corruption, blackmail, murder, trafficking, and every other illegal activity men like him were born into. He’s based here, but like a weed, his roots have reach. His businesses are far and wide, sprouting out in all directions.”
He’s becoming so angry, veins bulge in his forearms from clutching the wheel so tight.
“You sound like you hate him, hate what he is, so why do you work for him? And how do you know so much?” It feels like a personal attack, an insult.
If he believes all that, hates him the way it comes across, then why take his money every week in a paycheck? Why serve in one of his businesses?
He releases an exasperated breath. “I wasn’t planning on being there as long as I have, I suppose. I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t seem like what you portray,” I whisper, looking out the window so I don’t have to see the disappointment on his face.
He wants me to hate him too, and I do in an angry way, but it’s superficial anger and will dissipate.
“Because he hasn’t shown you his true colors yet. Take being fired as a blessing, Alyssa. Stay well clear of that man.”
Pushing open the car door, I smile, but it holds no joy. “I will. Thanks for the ride.”
I nod my head in acknowledgment as a few dancers’ wave as I pass them.
Nathanial is standing with his arm slung over Jewel’s shoulder on the couch when I move through the communal area on autopilot.
“Walk of shame?” Laura snorts, then shuts up when I give her a contemptuous glower. I’m in no mood for childlike, bullying bullshit today.
“You okay, Alyssa?” Nathanial calls out, and Jewel’s lips thin.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” If I have to say I’m fine one more time, I’m going to lose it.
Grabbing my shower bag and little ballerina figurine, I head to wash the night from my skin.
The spray of the water hides the tears I allow to fall as I dig the small feet into the skin of my hip.
It’s strange the emotion swirling inside me. Something akin to sorrow. I feel like I may float away, grief shredding my insides, I’m grieving the loss of Luca knowing I may not see him again.
It’s crippling, my chest tightens, the muscles clenching my stomach threatening to spew my insides over the shower floor.
My shoulders drop my breath spluttering as I attempt to gain control.
It can’t be over, can it?
Turning the shower off, I step out and go to the mirror, examining the bruises blossoming around my neck and teeth puncture wounds on my shoulder.
It’s so pretty. It’s the only accessories I enjoy wearing.
Tears well in my puffy eyes, the red veins prominent against the white. Agony clenching my insides, is this the last time I’ll adorn his mark?
There’s a sense of wealth in the room. Diamonds drip from the women, their husbands constantly surveying the room in their designer suits with golden check books.