Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
There was no way I could drive myself to another hotel or cheap motel. After what had happened with Emma, I’d never drink and drive. I didn’t need to add another layer of guilt to my already heavy conscience.
Back in Indianapolis, I’d have just called Marco and asked him to give me a lift to his place. Though he’d probably be as shitfaced as me. We usually spent these kinds of shitty nights together. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and called Pietro.
He answered after the second ring, no sign of sleep in his voice, only a deep, all-consuming wariness. “Danilo, what can I do for you?”
Maybe showing weakness to another Underboss was a mistake. Pietro was one of the better men in our world, but he was still a Made Man, and keeping face in front of him was important. He wasn’t the backstabbing, gossip-spreading type, and he’d also be family one day. He would already have been family, if not for Remo Falcone. The anger I’d dulled temporarily with liquor and a meaningless fling with a girl lightyears from reaching Serafina’s grace erupted inside of me again, lighting up the embers of my thirst for revenge and blood.
“Danilo?” Concern now mingled with the exhaustion in Pietro’s voice. Perhaps he was one of the very few people who understood my turmoil. We’d both lost something. But what he’d lost couldn’t be replaced.
“I’m too drunk to drive. I’m stuck in the parking lot of some shithole bar. Can I spend the night at your house?”
“Of course,” Pietro said without hesitation. He didn’t even ask why I didn’t just return to the hotel I’d booked. “If you give me the address of the bar, I’ll pick you up.”
I nodded as if he could see it through the phone, then told him where I was. I wasn’t sure how long it would take Pietro to reach this part of the city. I’d driven aimlessly through the streets before I’d finally stopped here.
My eyes fell shut as I gave in to the heavy fog the alcohol spread in my head.
A knock at the window jerked me from sleep. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but when I peered out of the window, Pietro stared back at me. I straightened and pushed open the door. My legs were wobbly. I’d obviously drunk even more than I’d thought. Pietro scanned me. I knew I was a pitiful sight, but he didn’t comment and wouldn’t spread gossip about me. By our standards, he was a good man.
He didn’t offer to help me as I staggered toward his car, even though I obviously could have used it, for which I was grateful. I wanted to keep a sliver of my pride.
Once I plopped down on the passenger seat, a wave of nausea washed over me, but I battled it down. I wasn’t a fifteen-year-old boy who’d overdone it at his first party. Pietro slid behind the steering wheel and started the car. He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.
Before the thing with Serafina, I had never seen him smoke, but I supposed each of us had our own vice to deal with recent events.
We didn’t talk. I was too drunk, and Pietro, albeit not drunk, looked like he was hungover.
“Is the Capo still at your house?” I asked eventually. The note of mutiny in my tone might have caused me my head on any other day. Not that I cared.
“No, he and his family left for Chicago.”
“Home sweet home,” I muttered.
Pietro took a deep drag and nodded. Our families were in shambles for various reasons, but Dante had kept his in perfect condition.
We arrived at Pietro’s mansion fifteen minutes later. The house was dark, except for a room upstairs.
Pietro sighed.
“Your wife?” I guessed.
He nodded. He’d never been very talkative, but now he seemed to have become selectively mute.
“What about Samuel?” I asked. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t just shut up.
Pietro took a final drag from his cigarette, stomped in on the ground, and led me toward the front door. “He lost his twin.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but at the same time it was. Samuel and I weren’t exactly friends. Our personalities clashed too much to like being around each other, but I respected him. I’d lost my fiancée—my future wife—when Remo had kidnapped her and had gotten Sofia as a replacement. For Samuel, there wouldn’t be someone else who could take his twin’s place.
Pietro led me to one of their guestrooms on the second floor, then excused himself.
I dropped down on the bed, shoving my shoes off and not bothering to undress. Seconds after my body hit the mattress, I passed out.
I stumbled downstairs, still in my nightgown. Yawning, I stepped into the dining room, which smelled of coffee and pancakes. Our maid Adelita gave me a quick smile before she rushed back out, probably to get whatever was still missing. Dad was the only one sitting at the table, which was unusual enough. Usually Mom was always up early and the first to make sure the breakfast table included all our favorites—especially on the weekend.