Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I remember him leaving me, and I questioned nothing because I was asleep before the door shut behind him.
He didn't touch me. But I'm not surprised, because today is our wedding day, and the ironic thing about men like him is that they have a surprising code of ethics. The same guy that would brutally beat a priest, his own brother, or pull a knife or gun on an enemy as easily as he would pour a cup of coffee, will not touch his future wife before she's taken vows.
They typically demand a virgin in their wedding beds but have no scruples about their own purity. The very idea is laughable. He would fuck up anyone in his company who questions his authority, or who betrays him. But loyalty also demands he lay down his life for his brothers.
It’s a brutal but predictable juxtaposition of power and control.
I suspect Salvatore's family is different from mine in some ways, though. He said as much when he described his sisters’ eagerness to be married. My sister and I went kicking and screaming, almost literally. At least Rosa did for her first marriage. But he says his family was glad to leave. That doesn't make me too excited to meet my future in-laws.
He's mentioned his mother but hasn't said anything about his father. If his father was the Don, no matter the hour, I would've expected him to meet us at the door last night, but he didn't. Maybe he's traveling.
There are a lot of maybes.
I blink and look around the expansive room. I grew up in both The Castle on Boston’s North Shore in New England, a bona fide castle with turrets and a courtyard and an actual swimming pool indoors, as well as my family’s sprawling estate in Tuscany. When I was a child, my parents would allow tourists and news agencies to tour The Castle. It's opulent, worth millions, and our residence in Tuscany is the same. Over time, they demanded more privacy, but our main family home is still a bit of a legend.
But from what little I’ve seen in person and online, I can already tell this place is… different.
There’s more space, for one. I’ve never seen cathedral ceilings in a bedroom, but these vaulted ceilings reach to the heavens. At the very center of the ceiling above me hangs a glittering chandelier. Doorways are elegantly arched, the woodwork is painted a vivid white. Most everything is a shade of white, from the bedding to the walls to the Berber carpet under my feet, though lavender satin accents—the drapes, throw pillows, and a tufted ottoman in front of a weathered vanity—lend pops of color that make the room less sterile and decidedly feminine.
Unlike The Castle with its floors upon floors, this home appears to only have two floors.
It's wider, though. The ceilings are higher. And oh my God, when I look out one of the windows.…
Palm trees, their large, broad leaves sagging toward the ground, border the estate. A vibrant red brick walkway leads to the main entrance guarded by a heavy black wrought iron fence I don’t remember seeing in person the night before. The house itself is painted white, but various roofs, decks, and balconies contrast in reddish brown brick.
It's hard to imagine the ocean I saw outside The Castle windows is the same one I see here, or is it? No… we’re on the West Coast of Florida, on the Gulf of Mexico, and my family’s home is on the Atlantic Ocean. Although they flow into one another, the cold waters of northern New England and its rocky shores don't look anything like this gentle lap of waves onto white sand. The beach is also dotted with palm trees. Ironically, it looks as if we’re actually living in paradise itself.
This bed I’m in has to be some kind of extra-large king. I can't even imagine where he would get sheets this big. I lay on my back and stretch my arms and legs as far as they will go. I bet I could fit my sister and friends here quite comfortably for a sleepover. I close my eyes.
I miss you. I miss you all.
While everyone else married off and started families of their own, I didn’t. I stayed home. I stayed with Mama. I held down holiday traditions and kept things together and didn’t leave.
Until now.
I have a job to do. A job I’ve known about for decades. It was only a matter of time.
I roll to the left, noting a sitting area with two lavender armchairs facing another window with the drapes still drawn. I rise, pad over the carpeted floor to them, and pull the drapes open.
I gasp. When he said we were on the water, he meant on the water. Online pictures didn’t prepare me for this.