Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
When I head back to the kitchen, I pause by the arch leading from the hallway to the workspace and stare at Skylar.
She’s busy frying something that looks like a vegetable pancake.
When I move closer, her eyes dart to me before returning to the pan as she flips the pancake without any effort.
“I’m making Asian food,” she informs me. “Korean pancakes, egg fried rice, and grilled mackerel.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Chef.”
Her eyes dart to me again, and I see the surprise in them because I called her chef. It’s followed closely by a confused expression before she focuses on the hot pan again.
“What was the confused look for?” I ask as I lean against one of the counters and cross my arms over my chest.
“It was just weird when you called me chef,” she replies. “You almost sounded like a normal person.”
She slides the pancake onto a plate, and using a pizza cutter, she slices it into triangles.
“It’s difficult to process you’re the owner of La Torrisi and a ruthless mafia boss.” She holds a tray out to me and says, “I’ve taken the liberty of setting one of the tables.”
Skylar grabs another tray with the rice and mackerel, and I follow her to the table.
When we take our seats, I notice she’s placed chopsticks on the table. She picks up her pair, and as if she’s used them a million times, she places a slice of the pancake and some of the meat from the mackerel on my plate.
We each have our own bowl of fried egg rice, and she smiles as she says, “I hope you enjoy the meal, Mr. Torrisi.”
It almost feels like an interview.
“Why is it difficult to accept I own this restaurant while being a part of the Cosa Nostra?” I ask to bring us back to our earlier conversation.
She picks up her glass of water and takes a sip before she answers, “This restaurant is a place where masterpieces are created.”
“And?” I take a bite of the pancake, loving the texture and flavor.
Her eyes meet mine. “Last week, I saw the body of a man you disemboweled with your bare hands.”
I stare at her as I suck in a deep breath of air.
It wasn’t my intention for her to see Castellanos.
“How do you straddle the light and dark? How can you create a place like this,” she waves over the tables, “and at the same time, you kill without blinking?”
“Easy,” I murmur. “Just because I don’t hesitate to kill anyone who crosses me doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the beautiful things in life.” I keep her gaze imprisoned as I continue, “You’ve seen the worst of me. I lost my brother, the person who I loved more than anything. You’re seeing the pain, the rage, the fucking relentless thirst for vengeance.”
The air vibrates with my sorrow, and I take a couple of breaths in an attempt to calm down before I say, “Giulio was full of life. He always had an infectious smile on his face. Everyone loved him.”
I close my eyes as a wave of pain washes over me. It’s not as intense anymore, but it still packs a punch.
Christ. I miss him.
When I open my eyes again, it’s to see Skylar’s chin trembling.
My voice is hoarse when I say, “I loved him so fucking much, and every day without him is hell.”
A tear spirals down her cheek, and as she wipes it away, she whispers, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Reaching for my glass of water, I take a few sips while gathering my thoughts.
“I’m actually the calm and funny one between my friends.” My eyes meet hers. “That’s why I was so close with Giulio.” I glance at the empty tables, the food forgotten between us. “A week before Giulio’s murder, I told him I was going to train him to take over when I retired. I’ve never seen him work so hard. Up until then, he gave me shit because he wanted to become one of my guards, and I wouldn’t let him.”
Talking about him isn’t as hard as I thought it would be.
My gaze flicks back to Skylar’s when she wipes another tear from her cheek.
“Why are you crying?” I ask with zero harshness in my tone.
She sucks in a trembling breath before she answers, “Because I feel so freaking bad that he was killed because of me.”
“Giulio,” I murmur. “You’ve never said his name.”
She lifts her chin, and looking me in the eye, she says, “I feel horrible for being the reason Giulio’s dead. If I could, I’d swap places with him in a heartbeat.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “The fucked up part is he wouldn’t have wanted that. He had a soft heart and probably would’ve donated his kidney if he had known he could help.”