Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Fuck. I need to give her up. I need to stop this before it goes too far.
Like it hasn’t already.
But then I’ll have no choice but to stand back while one loser after another, who thinks he’s good enough for her, shoots his shot.
I’ll have to suffer through knowing another man is touching her. Spreading her legs, claiming what’s already mine. Believing he’s worthy of her. Wiping out the memory of me.
One hand tightens around the edge of the counter, my coffee cup in the other. Everything around me goes hazy, my chest tightening while the rapid thumping of my heart fills my ears, fills the world, blocking out everything else. No. I can’t let that happen. Never. I’ll kill the fucker. I’ll kill every single one of them. Nothing comes between me and what’s mine, and Bianca most definitely qualifies. There is no fucking way I’ll let her belong to anybody else.
“Boss!”
It’s Romero’s surprised shout and not the splash of hot coffee that startles me out of the tunnel vision of rage. I look down to realize I’ve squeezed the plastic travel cup hard enough to crack it, and now my latte is dripping off the counter and onto the floor.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, grabbing a handful of napkins to mop up the mess I caused. One more mess to add to the pile.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re a little…” My eyes cut his way in time to find him grimacing like he wishes he hadn’t said anything. “Distracted.”
“Like I said, I’m fine. I do, however, need a shower.” My drink now ruined, I abandon the idea in favor of heading for the showers.
Men like me don’t believe in love, but possession? Fuck yes. And Bianca is mine. There’s no doubt in my fucking mind as I strip down and turn on the shower. I will never allow another man to touch her now that I’ve marked her.
I’m caught between lust and the need to keep her at my side. I can’t hurt her like the others. I won’t. Tying her to me needs to be the next step if I hope to avoid a very bloody, very murderous future.
She is going to be mine in every way that matters.
“Mr. Torrio, this is an incredibly generous donation.” Commissioner Ramsey stares at the check I’ve handed over, one with many zeros involved. “We’re all speechless.”
“I’m not asking for an acceptance speech, Commissioner,” I remind him with a bland smile, reaching across my desk to shake his hand. “Only your acceptance.” Along with an unspoken caveat: Leave me and my men the fuck alone.
Not that I have anything against charitable causes, but funding the city is one of the worthiest causes in my estimation. If I can kill two birds with one stone, though, so much the better.
“You certainly have that.” His grip is firm, but he can’t stop glancing at the check like he wants to be sure it’s real.
“I’m sure the city can put all those millions to good use.”
“No doubt. This is enough to fix many of the problems within the city.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll do whatever I can do to help.” I stand, buttoning my jacket and rounding the desk while Romero opens the office door. “Please, let me know if there’s more I can do. I’m always eager to be of service to you men and women in blue.”
He turns his face away from mine, but not in time that I miss his knowing smirk. We’re not kidding each other. We both know what this is all about. Money is money, and the city needs it. There isn’t a principle in this world strong enough to overcome the power of cash. Corruption is everywhere. You just have to look between the lines.
I sit down while Romero sends the commissioner on his way, guided by one of my guards. What a relief to have that over with. I can drop the pretense of friendliness, when I’m feeling anything but friendly.
“It looks like your next meeting is a few minutes early.” Romero stands close to the desk, lowering his voice while glancing through the open door. “Marco told me a Joe Smith is waiting to see you.”
His name isn’t Joe Smith, but we both know that. It’s too obvious a pseudonym to be anything. “Show him in.”
“Are you going to tell me who he is, or do I have to find out on the fly?”
Fair enough. “I have him watching Amanda.”
Understanding washes over him before he squares his shoulders and strides toward the door, gesturing for the man to join us.
We’ve only met in person once, years ago, but he made enough of an impression to stick in my memory. At first glance, he could be any middle-aged dad wandering a home improvement store in his straight-leg jeans, polo shirt, ball cap, and white sneakers.