Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
After my second glass, I’m ready to get out of here. Forget desperation. I’m an ugly bundle of nerves. This is worse than that time I played the snowman in a school play. I had, like, ten pages of lines to memorize in fourth grade. I remember sweating through my white turtleneck backstage so bad my brother, Jason, laughed and said I was melting. I can keep telling myself that I’m strong enough, that I can turn off my brain and set aside my pride for one night if it means survival, but I’m lying to myself. I’ve never been able to turn my chattering skull off. At night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling as my brain babbles in languages I don’t even know. Images, sensations, songs whirling through my skull a million miles per second.
I shove back from the bar and I’m about to stand when the door opens.
Two guys walk inside. I freeze, not moving. They’re big, both of them, dressed in shirts, jackets, no ties, with the top buttons undone, their dark hair shoved back. Watches glitter on their wrists. They scream money and power. The room stares in silent surprise as the pair survey the rundown tables, the peeling laminate floors, the water-stained ceiling, before they walk to the bar.
And sit down one stool away from me.
I don’t move. My heart’s racing in my chest. Slowly, I push back and nod at the bartender. Once he’s done with the newcomers’ drinks, he brings me another glass of wine. I sip it, mouth watering.
They’re not the kind of men I expected tonight. They’re not the Irish thugs that normally hang around a dead-end like this.
But they’re just as dangerous and much richer.
The man sitting closer to me is the larger of the two. He has a straight nose, square jaw covered in stubble, and shoulders like a linebacker. Everything about his clothes suggests a serious businessman with means, except a serious businessman with means would never sit down in a place like this. Which means he’s something else.
It doesn’t take long to catch his gaze.
He stares, head tilted. His brows knit, considering. His eyes are dark brown and my heart races as he licks his lips, not bothering to pretend like he’s not checking me out. He lingers on the cross. And probably on my tits. Then he’s making serious eye contact again.
“Are you here alone?” he asks.
Despite the fact that he’s eye-fucking me so hard I’m basically pregnant at this point, it takes a second to understand what he means. “Uh, yeah, just me.”
“I’m Saul. My friend is Dante.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Dante just nods and doesn’t look interested.
But Saul can’t seem to look away.
He’s handsome. Absurdly handsome. Like the sort of handsome I know exists in the abstract but I’ve never actually seen it before. Fine cheekbones, lips carved from marble, and layers of muscle under that fancy suit. It’s almost hard to look at. The contrast between him and the scratched-up bar is painful. I cross my legs and sip my wine. He watches my mouth the whole time.
“This is going to sound like a pick-up, but I’m genuinely curious. Do you come here often?”
I try not to smile.
I’m going to rob him tonight.
Either that, or I’m going to puke on his shoes.
I haven’t decided which one yet.
Chapter 2
Saul
This fucking bar was not worth the blood it took to get it.
One full week of fighting: intermittent brawls, a couple of shootings, and three dead Irishmen before they finally retreated and ceded the block to us. Turns out, there’s not much here. Residential houses, a butcher’s shop and this place. The Sterling Duck. It makes the typical Philly dive look like a palace. I’m going to burn my shoes and buy ten new suits when I get home just to make sure the stink of this place doesn’t follow me back.
Except there’s the girl. She doesn’t belong. I planned on having a drink, letting everyone in the place understand that the order of the world has changed and they now live in Rossi Famiglia territory, except there she was.
Tight black dress, legs like heaven, a cross dangling between full breasts, lips fluffier than clouds, thick auburn hair, big green eyes. She’s not the kind of girl I’d bring back to my brother, Don Renzo, but I can’t help but feel a sudden and intense attraction.
I try to keep it under wraps. Dante’s here with me, and while we’re friends, he’s closer with Renzo, and he’ll report back if I do something stupid. But since when was taking a girl home stupid?
I’m pretty sure she’s a hooker. Why else would a girl like her be in a place like this? But for some reason, that only makes me more fascinated by her. I don’t bother with working girls—but sleeping with a professional without paying seems like an interesting challenge.