Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Motherfucker’s got a death wish.
I launch myself fully at him. Slam my palm into his belly. Kick him in the nuts until he falls to his knees. Punch him hard enough that he lands on his back, his hands trying fruitlessly to cover his face. I hit him again, and again, my fist landing like an anvil with a solid, satisfying crunch of bone, until his eyes are swollen shut and his face is unrecognizable.
“Mario!” she screams. Figures the first goddamn time she uses my name it’s in the middle of a fuckin’ beatdown. “Stop! You’ll kill him!”
Like I fuckin’ care. He hit her. He deserves to die.
I hit him again, every smack of my fist like a goddamn hammer in his belly. I might as well be slamming my fist into a punching bag for all the fight he gives back.
“Leave him,” she says. “You can’t… it isn’t worth it.” She grabs my arm and drags me off of him.
She’s right. If I add involuntary manslaughter to my list of crimes, Romeo will literally disown me.
“Fuckin’ douchebag,” I say under my breath, giving him a parting kick to the ribs that hits its mark before we go.
I grab her by the back of the neck. She freezes, her eyes wide. “You’re fuckin’ coming with me.”
No more playing around. No more skirting the edge. Something tells me I am not going to regret dragging her ass back to The Castle, where I have a full list of ways I can interrogate her and no more room for escape. It’s time.
I open the back door to my car and half shove her in. “Get in. Buckle. Do not talk right now.”
She turns around and sputters at me. “Um, no? Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t need rescuing. I don’t need your help. I don’t—”
I spin her around and slam my palm against her ass so hard she gasps, the air whooshing out of her in one fell swoop.
“What do you—”
I yank her into the car. Slam the door. Hit the locks.
“Engage the safety locks,” I order the driver. We have child safety locks installed in the back of every vehicle to prevent anyone escaping.
I’m barely even thinking straight at this point beyond the instinctive drive to get her safe, to get her out of here, and to get her home.
I’ve fucked this up enough. Now it’s time to take the goddamn lead.
She scrambles out of my hold, and when I reach for her, she smacks my hand away.
“Ah, no you don’t, doll,” I say, shaking my head as I grab her wrists. She’s a feisty one, but it’s laughably easy to restrain her when she’s out of her element and I’ve got enough adrenaline coursing through me I could lift a fuckin’ semi. “No more fuckin’ around, babe. You’ll stay right here and answer some questions. Just fucked a guy up for you, so it’s the least you could do.”
“I did not ask you to do that for me. I do not need your protection. I can take care of myself!”
“Oh, is that right?” I ask nonchalantly, even as my palm itches to spank some respect into that tight little ass of hers. “You’ve got a palm print across your cheek that tells me otherwise.”
She is stunningly beautiful on any given night, but her attractiveness rating goes up about ten points when she’s pissed. Noted.
"Let’s start with the easy stuff. First, you’ve been giving me the runaround. You know my name, and I’m gonna guess, since you’re a smart girl, you know who I am. Yeah?”
Her eyes are little slits of fury as she glares at me. “Yeah. I know who you are, Mario Rossi.”
I don’t care if she’s pissed or we’re in a fight, the way she says my name is like manna from goddamn heaven. I’ll repeat that, later, when we’re alone and she’s damn well secured.
“Good girl,” I say, allowing the sarcasm to color my tone. “Do you know anything about the Rossi family?”
She shrugs. “A little.”
Lies.
I twist my fingers in her hair enough to get her attention. “Truth, doll, or I’ll be forced to use heavier methods of coercion than a bare-ass spanking and a little hair pulling. You get me?” I am not fucking playing.
She curses under her breath, her pulse racing against my fingers when I flex my hand on her neck. “Yes. Fine! Yeah, I know you’re a member of the Rossi family. Mobster.” She rolls her eyes. “Nothing special in Boston, big guy, you’re a goddamn dime a dozen.”
I shrug. If she thinks I want her impressed with my status or family, she doesn’t really know who the fuck I am. “Not gonna argue that point, just making sure we know where we stand. That’ll be a ‘yes, sir,’ from you.”