Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
And Julius would have moonlight.
I wondered whether he knew the extent of what I would do to make him happy, what I would do to keep him safe. I thought my stance was obvious.
I was crazy about him.
This relationship of ours was a two-way street. I didn’t expect a free ride, nor did I want one. I desired to be an active member of our team, and I would show him my worth, given the opportunity. And as this sometimes cruel, often apathetic existence had taught me, in order to get shit done, at times, one must dirty her halo.
Placing the partially eaten toast back onto my plate, I asked carefully, “Will you send the video to my father?”
He didn’t need clarification of which video. My father needed to know his son and only heir was dead. But rather than looking at me, he shook his head. “No. It’s better to keep your father in the dark for as long as possible.”
“How long?” I queried, unable to believe he would wish for my father’s alliance with the Gambino’s to continue, given the death of my brother.
At that sullen question, he looked up at me from the newspaper. His eyes narrowed on me ever so slightly, and he muttered a hard, “As long as it fucking takes.” He gave me a once-over. “It’s not like you’re on a schedule. All you got is time.” Under his breath, he murmured, “Thanks to me.”
It was an insult, and it did as he meant for it to do. Hurt forced a crimson flush up my cheeks.
I decided that today was definitely not a day for defiance, and so I bit my tongue.
I wanted to tell him that he’d gotten himself into this marriage not only willingly, but he had put me in a position where, to save my life, I dared not object. I wished to remind him that Gio was my issue to deal with and that if he couldn’t handle it, to let me go so I could do it on my own. My tender heart battled with mentioning that I loved him very much and was so very sorry for all the issues my being here had caused him.
But nothing good would come of battling with my husband over something as trivial as hurt feelings, not in the situation that we found ourselves in. Regardless of the way he had spoken to me, I was eternally grateful for all he’d done for me.
Dinnertime came and went. We ate the thrown-together pasta I had cooked in order to appease the beast, and he ate quickly, scooping heaped forkfuls of food into his mouth as if he couldn’t get away from me quick enough. I gazed at him longingly as he retreated to his office, shutting the door behind him with a light slam.
A sigh escaped me when I sat my butt down on the sofa and lifted his laptop to rest on my thighs, opening the lid. Julius had given the password to me the day before and told me to order whatever I needed on one of his many credit cards. I spent the evening buying clothes and makeup online, having them sent to the PO Box he had also provided.
The more I bought, the more at home I felt. My inner turmoil abated with every additional purchase.
Julius wasn’t going to do anything rash, I was sure of it. Hell, he married me, moved me into his home and told me to stock up on things I wanted and needed. He was having a bad day, was all. It wasn’t as if he was going to throw me out on my ass.
I laughed at myself, chuckling at my unfounded nervousness.
Staring down at the open web browser, I contemplated doing something very stupid, something that would make Julius mad if he ever found out. But as the minutes passed, the compulsion that gripped me only held on tighter, and I knew I was going to do it—screw the consequences, should there be any.
My email login keyed in, the blinking curser dared me to make a move.
A single click was all it took, and when my inbox opened, my heart beat faster. Guilt had me looking out for any signs of approach, but with Julius tucked away in his office and Ling being God knows where, I held onto my bad decision and ran with it.
I clicked compose, typed in my father’s email address, and then wrote two words before hitting send.
I’m safe.
My heart begged me to add so much more, irrelevant little details, but my brain forbade it. I logged out as quickly as I had logged in then went on another designer website and ordered some more clothes, pretending that my life wasn’t falling apart around me.
When light fingers brush the stray hair off my forehead, my eyes open with a start and I gasp, jolting into a half-sitting position from where I lay on the sofa. The only indication I was asleep is having been rudely awoken.