Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“If you object, then the deal is off and is unpaid. If the debt is unpaid, then there is only one other way to pay for it, and I assure you that you don’t want that to take place, piccolo.” His voice is dangerous, and his eyes say he isn’t lying. He will take someone’s life if I do not follow his rules.
Looking down at his hands, I know he has taken many people’s lives. I’m in danger of being his next victim.
“I won’t object,” I respond, trying my hardest to sound determined. I have no other option.
“Good,” he says, smiling as if he has just solved every problem in the world. The air between us is less tense now, and I find myself relaxing into the cushions more.
“Are you hungry?” Lorenzo asks, swirling the bourbon in his glass. He stares at it as if all the answers to his problems lie at the bottom of that glass.
“No,” I answer truthfully. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, but I feel no hunger. Matter of fact, my stomach is in knots. I don’t think I could keep anything down right now.
“Well, that’s too bad. ’Cause you’re coming to dinner with me. I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you smell Silvia’s food.”
“Why ask me if you are going to make the decisions for me anyway? No, wait, don’t answer that.”
Ignoring me altogether, he continues, “Anything in particular you like? I believe my cook, Silvia, made spaghetti with meatballs this evening.”
“Sounds good. I’m not picky.” I quickly stand at the same time he does. Our bodies brush against one another’s, and an electric current flows through us. For a tiny moment, I feel like I can read him, as if he is dark and damaged for a reason. It makes me want to dig my nails into him and crawl into the dark places of his mind and expose what he truly is.
As quick as the moment comes, it’s gone, the connection lost, and I’m left cold and scared once more. My fingers tighten around the fabric of my shirt, which I’m still holding together in front of my chest.
Lorenzo’s eyes lower to that hand, and his eyes light up like he’s just remembered something.
Briefly, he disappears into the large walk-in closet, only to return moments later with a pastel-colored blouse in his hand.
“Take your shirt off and put this one on,” he orders and hands it to me.
I take it and quickly do as he says. Dropping my torn shirt on the floor, I pull on the silky blouse. His gaze turns heated as he watches me change, which only makes me hurry up more.
It’s not until I’m buttoning up the blouse that I wonder who this belongs to. Why does he have women’s clothing in his closet? Does he do this a lot, or does he have a girlfriend… or wife? Whoever she was, she happens to be my size.
“Let’s go then.” Setting his glass down, he gently grabs my hand and leads me out of the room, stopping to close and lock the door behind us. I’m not sure why he feels the need to do that being it is his house, but I’m not curious enough to ask.
I can’t help but admire Lorenzo’s house as we continue our journey to the kitchen. The house is large and has an elegance to it that I have never seen before. This is the type of thing that can’t be seen anywhere—magazines won’t even do it justice. It is designed and decorated to a specific standard, and I assume that standard is Lorenzo King.
The kitchen is huge. Dark wood cabinets line the walls with stainless steel appliances accompanying them. The fridge is the biggest I have ever seen, and the eating area is so large that you could easily feed two families on Thanksgiving. Floor to ceiling windows take up the far wall, allowing light to come through at all angles. The floor is white marble, I presume, since I haven’t a clue. All I know is that it probably cost more than it is worth for me to be standing on it.
I take a seat at the table, my eyes never leaving the surreal view. It is a shame someone like him has a view like this. Even if he isn’t hurting me or demanding something from me now, I know it will happen sooner or later.
In a matter of minutes, a steaming hot plate sits in front of me. Red spaghetti sauce, meatballs, and noodles are the only things I can see.
“Eat it, it’s amazing. This is my mother’s recipe, actually.” He smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. I can tell that there is something brewing just under the surface. He is a hurricane, capable of taking everyone out with him once he meets the shore.