Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
I got drunk, and it made things seem better. I smile to myself as I fall asleep.
29
Rafael
I’ve been on edge all afternoon, barely able to focus on anything. Samuel walks into the office and drops a file in front of me.
“Figures from the bars,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“And uh, the guys on the door said they saw Anna and Lucas coming in about an hour ago.” I look at him impatiently. Why is this of any consequence? “Apparently he had his hands full. She was drunk.”
I tighten my fist. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”
He laughs and walks out of the room. What the hell is wrong with her? I drag a hand over my face. Just when I think she’s getting so much better, she crashes and burns at my feet. I think you should fuck someone else. Shit, if I could, maybe this would be better for both of us. I can’t though. I would never do anything to hurt her because her pain is worse than my own. And it would be like trying to smoke a cigarette to cure a heroin craving. Pointless.
Pushing up from the desk, I take a cigar from my pocket and light it. I make my way through the house, drawing smoke into my lungs before releasing it. It’s become a habit of sorts, to smoke a cigar on the balcony while watching Anna sleep in my bed. I make my way up the stairs and along the hall, pushing my bedroom door open. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the silvery moonlight in the room, but when they do, I see very clearly, the neatly made bed, absent of Anna. What the fuck?
Where the hell is Lucas? I storm down the hallway towards his room and shove the door open so hard that it bangs against the wall. A figure scrambles around on the floor, and my eyes zero in on Lucas, a blanket tossed casually over him and a pillow on the floor. A tiny figure is buried in the sheets of his bed. His bed. Not mine. The red mist is descending, the more rabid side of my nature threatening to consume me.
“Why the fuck is Anna in your bed?”
“I…she asked. She wouldn’t—”
“Enough.”
I walk over to the bed and scoop her up, pulling her against my chest. The heavy scent of wine drifts from her. Wordlessly, I walk from the room. Lucas and I will be having words tomorrow, but not now, not while Anna is trying to sleep in another man’s bed to hide from me. I walk her back to my room, and she barely stirs until I put her down on my bed.
“Rafe?” A little frown line sinks between her brows.
“Avecita,” I say through clenched teeth. My rage is a palpable thing, driven partly by the most selfish form of possession and partly by the absolute consuming fear that she’s trying to leave me.
She sits up, her hair wild and her eyes sleepy. “I don’t want to sleep here,” she mumbles.
I close my eyes for a beat, willing calm. “Why?”
Her hand lands on my face, fingers sloppily stroking over my cheek. “Because I love you, but I can’t love you.” She drops her gaze and sniffs. “And if you did have…sex with someone else, it’s okay.” Her voice breaks, and I pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her tiny form.
“Sweet Anna. So unaware,” I breathe into her hair.
I hold her until she stops trembling. She falls asleep in my arms, her soft breaths blowing rhythmically over my throat. Laying her down on the bed, I sweep her hair away from her face. The moonlight washes her features until her lashes cast shadows over her pale cheeks.
She’s right here next to me, but there might as well be a thousand miles between us because she doesn’t believe she’s enough.
I gave her freedom, and now she’s using it to run away.
Carlos’ fist collides with my jaw, and I stagger back a step. Dammit, the little fucker is fast. He cracks his knuckles and smirks at me.
“Size isn’t everything, Rafe.”
I snort. “Oh, it is.”
I sock him one in the gut. He dodges, missing the main bulk of the blow, but I still catch him in the side. He coughs, dragging a gasping breath into his lungs. “Fuck, you’re a bastard,” he chokes out.
The shrill ringing of my phone cuts through the gym, but I ignore it. It instantly starts ringing again. On a sigh, I walk over to where I tossed it on the mats and pick it up. Nero.
“Italian.”
“Rafael. How are things?”
“If by things you mean Anna, then she’s fine.”
He lets out a long sigh. “I have Una.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?” I can’t work out Nero’s angle here. The Italians are the ones who put the hit on Una Ivanov. So is he in on it? Did he set her up to be the fall guy? Was he planning to use both the Vasiliev sisters?