Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Not for you and me anymore.” I push away, trying my hardest to hold my cold, hard expression. One I have honed for years in the court room. No matter how much my body hungers for him, if I sleep with Crue again, I might as well be admitting my own defeat.
One of his men opens the back door for me, but I open the front passenger door and slide in that seat instead. The three men look between one another, stiffening.
“It’s fine,” Crue insists. When the driver-side door opens, Crue climbs in, and a cold shiver runs down my spine.
“What?” I turn around to see his two bulky men now sitting in the back.
Crue’s hand grips my leg through the revealing slit. “Don’t test me tonight, princess,” Crue warns.
“Don’t get your alpha asshole shit on with me tonight,” I throw back.
He stares at my lips, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, turning his fingers white. “Those filthy lips.”
I look away and out the window. The problem is that I can’t do anything to resist that look, or him, and even his grip on my thigh is a slow-burning torture, but I pretend to be unfazed by it.
CHAPTER 43
Rya
When we approach the estate, I pale. “Are you kidding me?”
Crue says nothing as we motor up the property's long driveway thirty minutes outside the city. I know exactly whose home this is.
“You cannot seriously be taking me to the Torrisi’s house while I’m mid-case with them. Do you know how bad that looks for me if I’m seen being chummy with them?”
“Chummy?” he says as if that’s the most offensive part of what I have just said. “Would it not be seen as flattering that you have such a great relationship with your clients?”
“No, I’ll look like a sellout.”
“Consider it an opportunity. You can even hand out your business card. I’m sure there are plenty of criminals here who need to be defended in court.”
Crue pulls up at the entrance, and I turn to him, doing all I can to hide my trembling fury. This man knows exactly how to push my buttons. To make me go from zero to one hundred with only a few words.
“Why are we even here?”
He pulls an invitation out from his suit jacket. “I received an invitation, of course.”
I narrow my gaze on the invitation. No, these families have bad blood between them. More factually, Crue has bad blood with most people unless they’re like the majority who fear him and do as he says.
My door is opened for me by a hostess who smiles brightly. “Welcome to the celebration of Andreas Torrisi’s fiftieth birthday. On your right, please take a welcome gift with the freshly branded Torrisi whisky line and a special surprise.”
I shudder at her rehearsed lines.
Crue steps around the car and offers his hand to me. I consider refusing it, but I know better in a social situation such as this. Whether it be with my father or Crue, I will just have to smile through the entire evening until it’s over.
“Why am I really here?”
“Because you will be my wife and will soon represent the Monti family,” he replies simply.
“We agreed you would stop with that.”
“We agreed I would stop asking.”
I grit my teeth and smile as another staff member tries to hand me a white and gold bag. Inside, there is a bottle of whiskey and what looks to be a bag of… “Is that cocaine?” I ask Crue incredulously.
“Looks like it will be a lively party after all.” He declines the offering.
“And seriously, a whisky line?”
The moment we step into the monstrous mansion, a waitress offers us two flutes of champagne.
“Easy to hide behind a business for another business,” he explains.
I roll my eyes as I take a mouthful of the bubbly alcohol. The cocaine was probably bought from the same warehouse.
I down the glass completely, and he watches me with a half-cocked smile.
“What?” I demand as I place the empty glass on the tray of a passing waitress.
“You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Excuse me?” I scoff, my nails biting into the sleeve over his wrist.
“The first time I met you when you were sixteen, you downed a flask, then chased it with wine.”
I feel stunned for a moment that he remembers that long ago. The memory for me is vague at best. But instead, I shrug as I collect another flute and say, “Turns out I have more to drink about now than I did back then.”
He chuckles as we walk through the house, where hundreds of people are laughing and smoking cigars, drinking, and some are already feral off God only knows what drugs.
In the backyard, there are even more people spread out. Women in bikinis and shirtless men jump into and laze around the pool. Others are polished in their finest as they idly chat at tables where trays of food and drinks are being offered.