Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
I stop reading and scrub a hand across my face.
What does this mean? What is Dahlia up to?
It’s a trap of some sort.
Except my traitorous heart has grown warm and full.
What if it’s not a trap? What if this is Dahlia’s attempt to save me? Perhaps from her father, perhaps from the law.
I’m moving before the thought has fully formed in my mind.
I have to find her. To see her.
Dahlia cares about me.
Maybe, she even loves me, as the article claims.
And if that’s true, then every second I’m not with her is wasted.
I jog to the door and get in my new 1964 convertible Corvette.
Dahlia Beretta belongs to me, and I’m going to go and get her. I park on the street beneath her parents’ luxury skyrise apartment on Central Park.
“Antonio Beretta here to see my wife, Dahlia.”
The doorman is obviously prepared for me. His eyes dart around nervously, but he holds his ground.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beretta, but I’ve been instructed to ask you to leave.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving without my wife.”
The guy swallows. He’s scared as shit of me. Sweat trickles down his brow. “Should I call the police, sir?”
“Call Dahlia. Tell her I’m here.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have my instructions.”
“Now.”
The guy jumps but shakes his head. “I-I’m calling the cops.”
Fanculo.
I’m tempted to use intimidation, but I check my aggression. I feel quite certain Dahlia wouldn’t want me to rough up her parent’s doorman.
“Fine.”
I park my car on the opposite side of the street and lean my ass against the car door. I fold my arms across my chest and settle in to watch the entrance. Sooner or later, some member of the King family will come out that door, and I will be here to talk to them.
Of course, the sky opens up and begins to pour rain down on me.
I put the top up on the car but don’t change my position.
I don’t care if I have to wait for five days in the fucking rain.
I’m not leaving here until I see my wife.
Dahlia
“You ruined this family!” My mother screams at me. She’s been crying all morning, ever since the article came out in the Manhattan Times society pages.
I was able to shut down or at least stall my father’s plan to send the FBI after Antonio with my promise to go public with the whole story if he did.
He whisked us back to Manhattan, and I’ve been a prisoner here ever since. I called Bea to come and get me, but the doorman refused to let her in. My father has security guards stationed outside our door–ostensibly for our protection, but when I tried to go out, they wouldn’t let me.
That’s why I called the reporter. I realized it was a way to protect Antonio in the future. Now, anything that happens to him will be examined by the public, and hopefully, the law, with the lens of the story I wove about star-crossed lovers kept apart. Another West Side Story. I kept out the part about Antonio ruining my father financially and the bloodbath on The Honeymoon.
“I’m not the one who ruined it.” My voice holds all the censure I have for my father and his behavior. He’s the one who mistreated Antonio. The one who was cocky or foolish enough to lose his entire fortune to the man, and the man who somehow still thinks he has any say in my life or how I live it.
I’m no longer beholden to my parents. The fetters of obligation and obedience are finally gone. I may have thought I was an adult before my wedding day, but I was still a child, acting for them.
Now, I’m a woman. A woman with power she can wield all on her own, simply with a call to a reporter.
“I’m not the one who started a war with the Beretta Crime Family and thinks he can win it. But I am the one who can put an end to it.”
“You put an end to us. To everything we had. You were going to be a president’s wife,” my mother shrieks. She’s at the wet bar, pouring herself a drink, even though it’s barely after noon. Outside, the sky is charcoal grey, and pouring rain.
“We have nothing,” I remind her. “My husband already took it all.”
My mother whirls, her mouth open in shock at my use of the words my husband. “Is that what this is about? You care about this man?” Before I can answer, she draws herself up into a rant. “You don’t care about him! Those were lies you told the newspaper. Desperate lies designed to ruin us. You just want your revenge because you had no say in your marriage.”
“Ah.” I fold my arms across my chest. “There it is. You finally admit it. You’ve been trying to sugarcoat your choices for my life all these years, but that’s the reality. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage. Raised only to do your bidding and fulfill the destiny you wish you’d had!”