Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“She’s pregnant? That’s great news!” He nudges me with his elbow. “Congratulations! That took no time at all. Good work.”
I can’t bring myself to share his excitement. Not with the reminder of how quickly everything can go to shit here in front of me, smoking, laughing at somebody’s joke. Only once he’s taken care of—and his benevolent host along with him—will I be able to enjoy the notion of being a father.
As it turns out, this isn’t the night for his reckoning. Four hours pass, five, and still neither Frankie nor anyone inside those stone walls steps foot beyond them. “There’s only so much longer it’ll work without being recharged,” Prince finally points out in a quiet voice tinged with disappointment.
“Very well.” I’m stiff from sitting in this position anyway and could use a piss and something to eat. “We’ll be back. At least I know where to find him now.”
And he can’t stay in there forever.
19
ALICIA
The house is usually quiet at this time of night. Not that it’s exactly noisy now, but a different kind of energy is in the air. It’s unsettled—tense. Like static electricity is in the air and if I touch the wrong thing, I’ll get zapped.
It’s probably because there are so many guards patrolling. More than I’ve ever seen here at once, even more than we had at the wedding. The house is crawling with them, and that’s not counting the men I sometimes hear exchanging words outside.
I can’t help noticing them on my way downstairs to grab water to keep in my room. None of them pay me much attention beyond a quick, cursory glance. Nothing about it gives me any insight into what they’re thinking.
And none of them are Enzo.
That shouldn’t worry me. After the way he flipped out on me, he’s the last person I should give a damn about. Let him go off and do something stupid and get himself in trouble. That’s not my problem.
But I am carrying his child, and he is my husband. With that excuse in mind, I approach one of the men standing just outside the kitchen door, keeping watch on the backyard. I slide the door open, and he turns at once, almost like he’s expecting trouble.
“It’s only me,” I offer with a faint smile. He doesn’t return it, but then I don’t expect him to. “What’s going on, exactly? What’s with all the faces and bodies around here?”
I should have known better. He smirks before turning his back on me. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
That sounds much too familiar. I’m getting sick and tired of being told what I do and don’t need to know about.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin, reminding myself he isn’t Enzo. He has no hold over me, this nobody. Some goon with a gun who Enzo would castrate if he ever hurt me. “I am Mrs. De Luca,” I remind him. “And I would like to know.”
“If you needed to know, the boss would have told me so. He’s the one who pays me, not you.”
None of these men are exactly what I would call geniuses. I wouldn’t want any of them performing surgery on me. But they know how to put a person in their place. I close the door quietly, feeling small and insignificant—especially after trying to put on an act like I was all big and bad.
And I’m angry. So damn angry. I don’t know if it has to do with the baby affecting my hormones or what, but something that would normally make me roll my eyes before trudging upstairs has me steamed. Fuck these guys. Who do they think they are, talking to me this way? Is this the kind of life I would have to look forward to if I stayed married to Enzo?
I forget all about my water, instead choosing to go through the house into the living room, where a man is posted by the front door. “Excuse me. Do you know where my husband is?” It’s past midnight, and he still hasn’t come back from wherever he went with Prince. Not that I was clued in or anything. I happened to overhear him making plans on the phone.
“If you don’t know where he is, why would I?” He snickers as I turn away, my face flushing with both embarrassment and rage. This is ridiculous. Do these men take courses on how to be cold and dismissive?
At least he said something to me. When I ask the guy posted in Enzo’s empty study, he doesn’t bother saying a word. He only stares out the window, his back to me, like a statue. A statue who would probably blow the head off an intruder.
There has to be a reason they won’t at least tell me where he went, like a meeting or something. They won’t even bother telling me they don’t know—maybe they don’t. Why would he keep them informed? But their egos probably won’t let them admit that.