Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
So, the moment he graduated high school, he tried to give me an ultimatum. ME. Dominic fucking Falcone. If I didn't pivot away from the restaurant and pick back up the lucrative crime life from before so Carlo could take over in a couple of years, he would disappear and there would be no son to carry on the family name.
The infuriating idiot. How could he not see that carrying on the family name wasn't worth it to me if it meant the name would be covered in blood?
Of course, there’s no way I’m giving up Il Fiore Raro, the restaurant that is my baby and has been in the making for years. It's the pride and joy of the Falcone family, and it's not something I was willing to give up. So I blacklisted Carlo, and the last time we spoke was when he packed up his bags and left, cursing me the entire time.
I was sad at first. Angry. Frustrated. But it's been years since then, and the ache of his absence has faded. It's better for him and for me.
Until today.
The knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts, and I sit up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of my suit. "Come in."
The host leads in a woman, and for a moment, she's so unexpected that I forget myself and the anger burning inside me. She's...holy hell. She's everything.
The most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
She's an angel, with a heart-shaped face and large, innocent emerald eyes. Her nose is small and straight, and her cupid's bow lips are naturally pink. Her skin is like ivory, her dark hair falling in soft curls down her back.
But then there's her body. She's tiny, maybe 5'1, but the way her t-shirt stretches across her ample chest and her curves are like something out of a dream. She's got the fabric knotted at her belly, and when she turns to thank Mario for the escort, a sliver of skin is exposed. I imagine licking it, undoing the gold button on those jeans, and continuing down.
Then she turns toward me, shy but meeting my gaze, and everything changes. I feel like a meteor falling through the atmosphere, burning all the way down, the only thing holding me together is the connection I feel for this girl. It's instantaneous and ridiculously strong, a tether tying us together. I can see in her eyes that she feels it too, the same desire and pull.
But she's also scared. She's shaking, her hands trembling, and when she walks toward the chair in front of my desk, she nearly trips over her own feet. She's an innocent, a lamb in the lion's den, and all I can think about is taking her for my own, keeping her safe.
I have to get a grip on myself.
The thing is, despite not having spoken to Carlo in years, I've had people keep an eye on him, just in case. He might be a little punk, but he's still my son. So while he had a few short relationships in the past, his most recent girlfriend lasted longer than most. I've glanced over her picture and name in Carlo's file, but her face in black and white in a little printed picture is nothing, NOTHING, compared to her in person.
And I know her name. That much I do remember, thinking that it was too sweet of a name for someone like Carlo.
"Have a seat," I tell her, thankful that my voice doesn't betray my now-overwhelming need. I watch her walk to the seat in front of my desk and lower herself down, getting another glimpse of that fascinating inch of her bare stomach. "You're Daisy Linden."
Her shining eyes go wide, "Y-yes...I am. How did you know?"
I'm not about to tell this angel that I have a page on her in my asshole son's security file. "And you have something to tell me about my son?"
From there, this becomes one of the most infuriating and arousing 40 minutes of my entire fucking life. Hearing that Carlo has stooped so low to put out a hit on this sweet woman, MY woman, makes me murderous. But then I touch her, holding the back of her neck and feeling her silky skin, and I'm harder than I've ever been. I want to bury my face in her neck and inhale her sweet vanilla scent, burn it into my brain forever.
When she tells me she wants to work off her debt by working in my restaurant, I know immediately that I can't allow that. She's not some barista or waitress. She's an angel. No one can look at her but me, no one else can be near her. The very thought of another man's hands on her makes my vision turn red.