Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
She’d fed right into his trap, and now, there was no escaping.
Milah was so easy to read. Her hatred of him would be her downfall.
Or her survival.
Damon had never been into weak women or doormats. He preferred his women to be full of fire. Milah was filled with hatred, whereas he was used to women worshiping him.
Through the stall of the shower, he saw her outline and that of his knife. He was impressed with how she held herself.
Such power.
Such control.
Some of his men didn’t even show this kind of dedication. He had to wonder how she was able to fight. His men had told him that she had to be trained in some way, but he didn’t know how.
Russo wouldn’t allow his daughter to be trained by men. She was merely a woman. The Russos were not known for caring about what happened to their women. They were still pawns in their game.
So how did Milah do it?
Who helped her?
No one had the answers.
The door to the shower opened, and he waited, counting down the seconds before she struck.
He saw her reflection in the tile, the hesitation, and that was her downfall.
If Milah wanted to end him, she should have done it swiftly without taking a second to think about her decision. This was where she messed up.
He captured her wrist and thrust her to the wall. With his hard grip, she cried out, and the blade fell to the bottom of the shower stall between them. Far enough away from their feet that no one got hurt.
Now he had her, but what was he going to do with her?
Chapter Four
Milah had lied to Damon.
She was very much a virgin.
The men who were near her father would never betray him. Not that she’d want to sleep with any of them. The guys at school who were her own age were way too immature. She wasn’t going to risk her father’s wrath just to sleep with them.
“There is a chance, my sweet, that you will never marry for love. I hope one day you will be able to find love, embrace it, relish it, and hold on to it. It is the greatest feeling in the world.”
Her mother had sounded like she spoke from experience, but Milah knew she didn’t love her father. Her parents had been a business deal. Nothing more. Her mother had her own wealth, which she brought to the marriage.
Milah touched her hair, wishing at that moment that her mother was beside her. When she’d been talking about love, there had been a soft smile on her lips, as if she talked from the heart. The way she’d reached out to Milah, stroking her hair back as if in fondness.
Hands clenched, she looked away from the bathroom and saw the metal glint on the bed.
Crawling toward it, almost afraid of what it was, she saw it was his knife. How did it get on the bed?
He must have put it there. Or had it fallen out?
Was this a test?
Was Damon testing to see if she would try to kill him?
She touched her finger to the tip of the side of the blade. It was cold to the touch.
“You must learn how to hold a weapon.”
“Mom, please?”
“No, please. Do you think anyone is going to listen to your pleas? You’re a Russo. They are going to hold it against you, no matter where you go. All you can do is arm yourself.”
The training had been brutal. She had to learn so much and all the while, her mother looked on, completely guarded. Almost as if she was watching something that bored her. Milah knew she did it out of love though. Love for her daughter.
That was her way of protecting her daughter against her own father. Not that her father would hurt her in that way. Never. But he would sell her, like he had done so now to save his own damn hide.
Hatred coursed through her, and this time, it wasn’t directed to her enemy, but to her father. He would suffer for what he’d done.
She hoped right now he was feeling nothing but humiliation and shame for what he’d done. How his men and those closest to him would see him as nothing but weak. He’d given in to De Luca.
He would fall one day, and when he did, she hoped to watch. Even though it meant her own life would soon follow. She was a Russo.
Gripping the handle of the blade, she held it tight within her grasp and stared toward the door. She would kill him and be free. That was all she wanted. A freedom away from this life. Away from her name. She never wanted to be a Russo, preferring to be a Flynn, which was her mother’s maiden name.
With the knife in her hand, she felt the weight of it. This had to be his personal knife. The one he used to maim, to kill. It was impeccable. The feel of it in her hand was … strange. She had never held anything so fine. Her mother had only been able to use generic hunting knives and whatever weapon the soldiers were able to sneak in.