Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I nodded and left him there, heading back outside, ignoring the fixtures and their drinks and their wasted days and lives. The sun felt good and I stood there for a few minutes, looking at the city, at the cars drifting past, the people walking by, the motion, the life. I missed it, hiding out in that damn mansion, away from everything. I felt like I was secluded.
But then I thought of Amber, and started walking north again.
Vincent wasn’t telling me the whole truth. He wasn’t about to admit that his operation was shaky, and shit was going to come crumbling down. I couldn’t blame him for that, but still. I had to know what was happening outside the mansion or else I couldn’t make the right moves. I got complacent in Mt. Airy, in that nice house, flirting with Amber, teasing her, making her like me. I wasn’t going to get complacent again.
The city might be on fire around me, but I was going to make sure Amber didn’t get burned.
10
Amber
Ren disappeared one afternoon, leaving me alone to wallow in my absurdly luxurious room. I spent half the day on the couch until a knock at the door forced me to get up, blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl, and peered out at Mona.
She beamed at me. “Hey there. How’s it going?”
I grunted like a monkey in response and stepped aside, letting her in. She gave me one long look then sighed and shut the door behind her.
“That bad, huh?”
“I’m struggling, Mona,” I said, flopping back down on the couch. “Not gonna lie.”
She chewed on her lip a little then walked to the bar, poured a small glass of something brown, and shoved it at me. I took it, stared at it, then tossed it back. The alcohol burned in my stomach and I coughed like I might throw up.
“You need a shower,” she said.
“Come on, I’m not that bad.”
“No, you’re pretty bad.”
I glared at her. “If all you’re going to do is insult me and get me drunk, you might as well get out of here.” I hesitated a second. “Well, get me drunk first. Then get out of here.”
She laughed. “Come on, sweetie.” She reached a hand out. “Take a shower then we’ll talk. You’ll feel better.”
I grunted again but let her pull me to my feet. Truth was, I felt terrible, like I’d gone half-feral. I caught Ren giving me some pretty questionable looks over the last couple of days, and although the anxiety and fears got better every day, I still felt like I was on the verge of spiraling.
But I got the sense that Mona wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I sucked it up and showered. When I was finished, I put on fresh clothes, and found her sitting out in the living room with a tray covered in food. She looked over her shoulder as I joined her again, tentatively tugging at my wet hair.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Lunch,” she said. “You know about lunch, right?”
“I thought it was still morning.” I frowned, looking for a clock. “What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s two thirty,” she said. “Now sit down and eat something.”
I hesitated, but joined her. I took a small bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bottle of sparkling water, and although she gave me a disapproving look, I brushed it off.
“How have you been?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in a few days, and I was starting to think she’d forgotten about me.
“I’ve been okay,” she said. “Things are tense around here right now. I feel like keeping Vincent from going off a cliff is a full-time job.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Really? I thought he was—you know, in control.”
“He is and he isn’t.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “The rumor about him being sick is true. Multiple sclerosis. It’s been stressing him out a lot, and this new war that popped up is only aggravating everything. He’s stretched thin, and although he insists he can handle it, I can see the cracks forming.”
That wasn’t exacting comforting news. In the mafia families, strength was prized above all else. If leadership was weak, then younger, stronger men would step up and take what was theirs. Every mafia don worked hard to exude power and health, because to do anything else was a death sentence.
If Vincent really was sick, that meant he was vulnerable, and that meant more challengers were going to pop up if he couldn’t stamp them out fast enough.
“This war is because of those rumors, isn’t it?” I asked softly. I took a bite of soup and it was surprisingly good.
She nodded and gave me an appraising look. “That’s right. Picked up a little something, living with your father, huh?”
I snorted. “I’ve been around these mafia guys my entire life. I sure hope I learned something.”