Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t expecting you to call, that’s all,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
“Like someone kicked me in the face.” He chuckles softly. “Can’t tell the others that, though. Do you know how much shit I’ve gone through to keep this surgery a secret?”
“From everyone, including me.” I pace back and forth across my bedroom, body thrumming with desire for Kacia. I close my eyes and can still feel my thumb in her mouth, feel her tongue lapping at me, her lips sucking at me, like it’s my cock sliding down that pretty throat.
I have to push the vision away. I can’t get distracted right now.
“Don’t sound bitter, boy. You know how this goes.”
“You can’t seem weak around the others, but I’m your son. I need to know when you’re having major surgery, Papa.”
“Ah, there was no real worry, the doctors all said I’d be fine.”
“Even still. Arrangements must be made.”
“Are you waiting for your old man to kick the bucket? I’ve got time yet, boy.”
“That’s not what I mean. You know what would happen if you died suddenly without naming an heir. It would be chaos.”
“I didn’t call for you to give me shit.” His voice sharpens and hardens, and that’s the papa I’ve known all my life. The unrelenting bull, the unflinching monster. His driving expectations and training have defined my existence since the day I came out of my mother, kicking and screaming bloody murder. Now I am what he made me, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.
Probably not. I have a girl locked in a bedroom down the hall and decent men don’t do shit like that.
“What did you call for then?”
“I wanted to know why you’re not on the plane heading back to New York yet. I understand you visited the Florakis girl.”
I clench my jaw and close my eyes.
This is the moment and I haven’t prepared.
What am I supposed to tell him? Do I lie and hope it all works out? Tell the truth and risk him overreacting?
“The situation is taken care of,” I say, deciding to split the difference.
But my father is no fool. “That’s not the same as saying you shot her in the skull and now she’s dead. What happened?”
“I killed the Butcher of Rhodes.”
“That’s welcome news. You’re still not answering the question.”
“The girl is contained. That’s all.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can picture him in that hospital bed turning red and his vitals spiking. The nurses are going to have a fucking fit if my father has a heart attack talking to his son.
“You didn’t do it.” His voice is frosty and quiet.
“Papa—”
“You didn’t fucking do it.”
“I have the girl.”
“What are you waiting for then? I didn’t tell you to go out there and kidnap her. I told you to shoot her in the skull and to make sure she’s dead.”
“There were unforeseen circumstances.” Like I decided I couldn’t kill her after all, and now I’d rather marry her and fuck her into oblivion than shoot her in cold blood.
“Are there still circumstances? Go strangle the bitch and get it over with.”
I grind my jaw and decide, fuck it, if I want more power in the Famiglia then it’s time I start owning my decisions. “She’s more useful alive.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Papa sounds like he’s about to have a stroke, and frankly, I wouldn’t mind if he did right about now.
“She still has money and connections to the crime lords in Greece. They’ve got some of the best weed and robust shipping capabilities, plus there are friendly ports around New York and Philly, and if we can connect back with them—”
“You stupid piece of donkey shit,” he growls at me and I slam my fist into the wall to keep from hanging up the phone. “We have a weed connection. The cartels supply us with more than we need. You think the Greeks are better? You think they’re cheaper and more reliable than the fucking cartels?”
“I think it’s better to have options.”
“God damn, you truly are a moron. What will you do when the Russians get pissy, huh? What about the Europeans? When you start diverting their weed to our shores, are you going to be the one out there fighting on the front lines? Even more than that, how many of the crime lords will listen to you, do you think? Enough for it to matter? Will they back us when the Russians and Europeans decide to start a war because we stole away their best weed supplier?”
“The Russians are weak. We both know it. The Europeans are nothing.”
“Right now they are, but those commie fucks keep grudges. And don’t underestimate the Euros. God damn it, Luca, you had one job. Kill the girl. Instead, she’s still alive, and you’re making foolish plans.”