Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Taviano had always been close, and she’d felt that connection between them growing, just as he had pointed out, no matter how much she’d wanted to deny it or wanted to sever it. When she’d flung herself at him and he’d rejected her, she had made up her mind to change her life for herself. Her mother had been strong. He’d reminded her of that. He’d reminded her of a lot of things that night.
She’d been ashamed of herself. Not because she’d been gang-raped, not because she’d been helpless to stop it, but because she’d been so self-destructive, refusing to reach out and accept the help so many people offered her. Her parents, whom she’d dearly loved, would have been so upset with her. She had vowed to be the person they’d raised. Independent and strong. A fighter. She’d been that once and she would be again.
Whatever was between Taviano and her she would have to accept as well. She couldn’t sever that tie. The connection was so strong that at times she swore she felt him moving in her mind. She loved him that much, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to have a one-sided relationship.
She practically worshiped Taviano. He cared for her the way all the Ferraros did. He alone was physically attracted to her—she was very aware of that fact. She also knew that wouldn’t last once he’d had her. He seemed to go from woman to woman. She knew that all the Ferraros had reputations, although they didn’t seem to cheat on their wives. She watched them closely. Taviano was the lone holdout, the last of the wild Ferraro playboys, and speculation was rampant that he was looking for a bride, with several articles written on the possibilities of his choice of wives. She knew, because she’d read every one. Not once had lowly little Nicoletta been among those suggested for him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Taviano carried Nicoletta down the aisle of the plane to the bedroom. He cursed with every step as he hurried to get her to the bed where he could examine her for injuries. “Get us into the air, Franco,” he called out. They needed to get the hell out of Los Angeles. “Drago, the first aid kit, the large one,” he added, his voice clipped.
He set Nicoletta down on the comforter and she instantly turned on her side, trying to curl into the fetal position away from him. He put a hand to her belly to stop her. “I’ll need washcloths and towels and warm water.” He took the large case from Drago and put it on the bed beside Nicoletta.
“Piccola, stay still. Let me see how much damage there is. How bad is the headache?” Thankfully the lights were dim, and the shields were down on the windows in the bedroom. She had her eyes closed and her hands over her face, but between her fingers he could see trickles of blood sliding down her face. “You’re going to have to move your hands.”
“I can’t.”
He wanted to smile at her protest, that soft little voice that came at him out of the dark. Very gently he laid his hand over hers. She didn’t try to stop him when he enclosed her smaller fingers and pried them loose, uncovering her face. Even so, it was difficult to see her pale face in the dim lighting of the plane.
The jet gave a shudder as it began to move on the runway. Franco spoke, telling them to prepare for takeoff. Demetrio Palagonia leaned in from the other side of the bed to hand Taviano a warm washcloth.
Taviano took it with a brief smile of thanks. This was supposed to be an easy, casual run to a concert, not a dangerous mission that put them all in jeopardy. They’d handled it, but Stefano wasn’t going to be happy. Taviano had left his phone on the plane. He couldn’t take it into the shadows, and he wasn’t going to see what his brother had to say to him yet.
By now, his LA cousins would have told him that Pia, Bianca and Clariss were safe and staying with them until given the word that they could go home. When Stefano asked why there was no mention of Nicoletta, he would be told that their sister had provided clothes for her to ride the shadows, so no worries on that score, and Stefano would lose his ever-loving mind. Taviano couldn’t blame him, but he didn’t want to hear about it, not yet.
The plane was in the air and Taviano breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped away the blood. Thankfully the twin trickles came from Nicoletta’s nose, not her eyes and ears. He had mostly been afraid of a brain bleed. She’d seemed to handle the last ride better than all the others put together. He wasn’t certain why, when this ride should have been the worst, but her body had moved with his, as if they’d been born to ride together.