Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
With that, he stalks away, leaving me a shivering, horny mess behind him.
Four minutes. The fuck?
Giovanni DeAngelis will be here in four minutes to fucking kill me.
Shit.
I race up the stairs, trying my hardest to forget about Levi’s drum cock and the way that my body seems to always come alive around him. He knows what I need, what I desperately want, but he refuses to give in and ease the ache that builds every time I see him. But as he said, he’s not down for twisted games. If I want it, I have to ask for it, and that shit is never going to happen.
I race through the quickest shower of my life, scrubbing my hair with something that smells a little like shampoo, but I’m honestly not sure. I get halfway through my shower when the door barges open and Roman comes striding in with a handful of clothes and a makeup bag that looks all too familiar.
I stop what I’m doing and watch as he crosses the bathroom to place the clothes on the edge of the marble bath. He turns to face me and I see nothing but pure hatred in his eyes. “Hurry up,” he tells me as his gaze shifts over my body. “I’ve experienced firsthand what it’s like to be late for my father, and trust me when I tell you, you’re not cut out for it.”
I swallow hard and quickly rinse the shampoo out of my hair as he watches me a moment longer. Deciding that he’s satisfied with my pace, he walks out the door and pulls it shut behind him, and the second I regain my privacy, I shut off the taps and step out of the shower.
I’m never going to get my hair properly dried, but if I can at least throw on a little makeup and get a nice dress to cover all the important parts, I might feel a little better about myself. Twisting my hair up into a towel, I quickly race through my makeup and pull a tight black dress over my head. Naturally, there’s no underwear in my pile of clothes, but when the dress plunges deep between my breasts, I realize that underwear wouldn’t have worked anyway.
Black liner and mascara line my blue eyes, and finally, I start to recognize myself again. Though remembering that I stabbed a guy last night has that dull, lifelessness quickly returning. Something tells me that blood, guts, and gore are the new normal for me and that I better get used to it—fast.
I slip my feet into a pair of heels that I can already tell are going to give me blisters, but after the night walking around in stiletto boots and spending the night before that racing barefoot through an overgrown maze, I couldn’t possibly do any more damage than I already have.
Flipping my head forward, I catch the towel as it drops from my hair and I dry it as best I can before running a brush through my long, brunette strands. I search the cupboard and only just get the hair dryer plugged in before a fist bangs against the door. “Thirty seconds,” Marcus hollers. “Be there on time or prepare yourself for hell.”
Fuck.
I flick the hair dryer on and start counting back from thirty as I desperately try to get my hair to sit just right, but when I get to one, I realize that today is going to be one hell of an epic fail.
I haven’t prepared for this, and honestly, I thought that I’d be dead before I actually got around to meeting the most senior member of the DeAngelis family. You know, the one who runs the most terrifying mafia group known to man. These people are cold-hard killers, they’re unforgiving and relentless, and if I don’t meet their ridiculously high standards, then I’m as good as dead. Though I don’t understand why it matters. I’m the trash that was purchased as entertainment for the man’s three wicked sons. I shouldn’t have to meet anyone’s fucked-up standards. Hell, I shouldn’t even be included in this ridiculous little lunch.
Making my way out of the bathroom, I pull and twist my hair, trying to style it the best way I can, but I’m usually a hair down and out kinda girl. I don’t know how to do fancy, but I guess it’s too late now. My heels tap against the stairs as I make my way down to the dining room, but as I get closer and closer, I try not to make a sound.
My nerves are quickly getting the best of me, and as I reach the grand entrance of the dining room, I find myself hovering outside the door, too terrified to go in.
“No,” I hear Roman’s authoritative tone coming from inside the room. “We have to be patient. If we move too soon, we risk it all.”