Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
And I would.
But the wife and kid thing… That wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t in the cards for me. Now, I would just have to figure out how to convince her of that.
I was back at the casino early—before five the next morning. I went through numbers, checked reports, and once satisfied, decided to head to the house and see Nonna. I felt badly that I had been neglecting her, but with my right hand, Aldo, away on his honeymoon, problems with the build in Ottawa, and the general craziness of running the businesses, I had been too busy. Much to Carlo’s chagrin, I had him stay at the casino and I drove myself. My personal car was bulletproof, and I wanted to be alone. Due to the roadwork, I ended up driving past the small diner again. Without thinking, I pulled over and parked, heading inside. It was busier, the breakfast crowd getting their morning nourishment and coffee. I sat down at one of the few tables, waiting.
Effie walked out of the kitchen, carrying a tray. She served the customers, refilled their coffees, then turned to me, her smile fading a little when she saw who it was.
“Oh. You.”
I smiled at her. “Me. Not happy to see me?”
“Not really.”
“Shame. You look very pretty today.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Right. Now why are you back again?”
“I enjoyed my bagel.”
“I see. You know, there are lots of bagel places. I can recommend one a little more upscale for you.”
I shook my head. “No. Your coffee is excellent. So was the bagel. I would like a dozen to go.”
“Whole wheat?”
I smirked and shook my head. “Cinnamon raisin.”
“Anything else?
“Do I get another cookie?”
“Those are for lunch orders only.”
“Every lunch gets a cookie?”
“Yes.”
I stroked my chin. “Interesting gimmick. Did your sister contact you?”
She frowned and huffed. “I really don’t see what business that is of yours.”
I regarded her steadily, and she began to fidget, breaking her silence. “Yes, okay, she did.”
“Tell me you said no.”
She sat down, leaning close. I found her eyes as mesmerizing as the day before, the color indescribable. Blue. Violet. Amethyst. It changed with how the light caught her irises. “She told me she was in trouble and needed money. I offered her what I had in my account, and she said it wasn’t enough.”
“Still generous of you. You are aware you wouldn’t get it back, correct?”
“Yes. She wasn’t very happy. Then she informed me it was all my fault, which is her usual go-to when she is upset. She left, and I haven’t heard from her since.”
The last word I had from my men was that Marianne was in her apartment and had been there since last night. No doubt she was concocting a scheme to run. I had half a mind to let her go. The money meant nothing—it was the principle. And although I didn’t like her, hurting women was a no-go for me. I planned on putting the fear of God into her and making her work off her debt, but in the end, that would probably be too much trouble. I would figure something out.
I stood. “Good. Best you don’t.”
She stood as well, barely coming to my chest. I felt like a giant beside her.
“Do you know what sort of trouble she’s in?” she asked.
I nodded.
She leaned closer, and I caught her scent. Sweet and floral. It was as delicate as she appeared to be, and for some reason, it made my cock twitch.
“Are you the reason she’s in trouble?”
“Marianne is the reason she is in trouble. Nothing else.”
She pursed her lips, making me want to kiss them. I blinked at the thought. This woman was not my type at all.
“My bagels. And a coffee.”
She turned and walked away, and I admired her round ass. Her yoga pants showed it off to perfection, and I wondered how it would feel cupped in my hands as she rode me.
I shook my head as my cock got right on board with the idea, my pants getting tighter by the second.
A moment later, she came from the kitchen, a bag in one hand, a coffee in the other. I approached the counter, smiling as I stuffed another fifty in the tip jar. Then I did something I hadn’t planned. I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a simple white card with my name engraved on it. I wrote my cell number on the back and pressed the corner, then slid it into the pocket on her T-shirt. “If anything happens, or you need something, that is my private cell. Call me.”
“Why would I—”
I cut her off. “Anything. Call me.”
And I left.
I opened the windows, resting my arm on the door as I drove down the familiar back roads. It still amazed me that sandwiched between Toronto and Niagara Falls were many large, rolling estates. The soil and climate here made excellent wine, produced amazing crops, and made you think you were in the middle of a vast countryside, not a few miles off one of the busiest highways in the country. I slowed as I came to the gates, admiring the stonework that ran the perimeter of the grounds. To the average eye, my estate looked much the same as many. To someone really looking, they would see the differences. The higher stones, erected in such a way they were insurmountable. The gates that were shut. The active guards who were visible. We hosted no wine tastings or large groups. Picnics were not allowed. You needed an invitation to come on to my grounds.