Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Right,” Romeo says with a knowing smile. “So we need to arrange a marriage for you, then.”
I nod. We both know it’s for the best.
“We do.”
Romeo takes another sip of his drink and places the nearly empty glass on the table. Wordlessly, I signal for a refill and replace it.
“Last week, Mario was crunching the numbers. And some things weren’t adding up. Long story short, a client of ours owes us three mil. He’s been paying us back, but when Mario went to balance the books, he found that he’s behind on where he should be, his payments only add up to ten percent of what he owes. After some digging, we discovered our broker has been stealing his payments.”
“Did you, now?” My voice is low and deadly. Stealing from the mob is a transgression worthy of brutal punishment and ultimately, death. Everyone knows this.
“We did. Son of a bitch owes us, big time. I sent Orlando and Santo to collect.”
Collect. Such a simple term that means such terrible things.
He had to, though. There’s too much at stake.
“And?”
“And Orlando reported back that it turns out our broker has a lovely, very single daughter.”
“Ahhh.”
Romeo taps open his phone. “Some fathers say their daughters are priceless. Not this guy. Turns out, he has a price for her and it’s three mil.”
I snort. “And you have no one else in your family eligible for marriage.”
“No, but it behooves my family if we start marrying you guys off. We’ve got Ricco sorted.”
We’re silent for a moment, neither one of us wanting to say what we’re both thinking. Ricco isn’t sorted. His wife has ovarian cancer. Despite seeing the most eminent specialists and receiving top-tier treatment at some of the best hospitals in the country, the chances of Ricco being a single dad eventually are high.
“Right.”
“So I made an arrangement. We forgive him his debt and his daughter marries you.”
I stare at the picture on his phone.
She looks like she’s lounging on a pool deck during spring break. Is she even old enough to drink?
“How the hell old is she?”
“Twenty-two, two months away from graduating college. So that’s the only catch. She’s promised to you, but you can’t have her yet.”
I shrug. Two months is nothing.
“How old are you again?”
I blow out a breath. “Thirty.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine, then.” He’d say that if there were thirty years between us.
“And what do I owe you?”
A man does not simply arrange another’s marriage without a fee, even those who are dedicated to each other.
“How much is membership here at the club?” Romeo asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Fifty grand a month per person.”
Romeo grins. “Fuck illegal guns and drugs, all you need is a high-end sex club to make bank, eh?”
I grin back.
“The Rossis get full, members-only access to your club for a year and we’re even.”
It’s fair. I nod. Neither one of us needs money.
“Deal.”
Romeo signals to get me a drink.
This time, I take it.
I tip back the glass and drink until the ice hits my teeth.
CHAPTER THREE
Eden
The bus station looms ahead of me with the bright lights of a promise of things to come. I feel a lightness in my chest I haven’t felt in so long, it’s foreign to me, though it’s still tainted with the fear of being found. Cloaked in darkness, I walked through the forest like a woman on a mission.
“This is it,” I whisper to myself, hoping that the sound of my own voice will give me more courage.
It doesn’t work. I tremble as if angelic messengers from Heaven itself will come down and block my way.
But no one—or nothing—does.
I’d mapped out the way. I’d taken notes and planned my route, and one day, when we’d gotten a shipment of goods, on a day when Seth was actually out of sight for a minute, I nonchalantly asked the delivery boy where the nearest bus station was.
“Oh, not far,” he said vaguely, waving in the general direction of the woods. “It’s only a few miles from here.”
My mind began to swim with possibilities.
“Oh?” I asked, while I stacked the bags of flour, beans, sugar, and oats on a shelf in our stockroom. “How much would a ticket cost then?” I wondered, not making eye contact with him, as if somehow that would prevent him from understanding my motives. I liked to pretend I was invisible, sometimes.
If only I could be invisible to Seth.
“Oh, a hundred dollars or so,” he said, when heavy footsteps warned us that Seth was approaching.
Our conversation came to an abrupt halt, but I had all the information I needed.
So I made my plans.
I forged my way.
I sold a few of my handmade items Seth didn’t know about, and socked away every penny I could. I made everyone pay me in dollar bills, and when Seth wasn’t home, when I was feeling very brave, I would count the bills, one at a time.