Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Angelo shakes his head. “We can eat in the living room.”
I nod as I grab two plates, and setting them down, I dish up for us. I make sure the rims of the plates are clean of any sauce before sprinkling freshly chopped parsley and shredded parmesan over the food.
Taking cutlery from the drawer, I glance at Angelo. “Food’s ready.”
He stands up, and my eyes drift over the sweatpants and shirt he’s wearing.
I have to admit, he doesn’t look as threatening in casual clothes.
I hand him a knife and fork, but he drops the knife on the counter before picking up a plate and heading to the living room.
I grab my own plate and follow after him. When I see him taking a seat, I pick the spot farthest from him.
I can’t stop myself from staring at him when he takes a bite of the food, and a second later, I find myself mesmerized by the way his jaw moves as he chews.
Really? Does the way he eats have to be so hot?
His eyes flick to me, and he catches me gawking at him.
“It’s delicious,” he murmurs. “Where did you learn to cook?”
I lower my eyes to the plate on my lap. “The local library.”
“The library gives cooking classes?”
I let out an unexpected chuckle that stuns me. “No, I used to check out recipe books so I could practice at home.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me. “You taught yourself to cook.”
I’m surprised when he looks impressed with me.
I take a bite of my food and glance at the shadows the old tree’s branches are casting on the floor.
Tilting my head up, I look at the glass ceiling. “The tree is pretty.”
“I like it too. That’s why I had the house designed, so it’s a feature.”
Silence falls between us while we enjoy the rest of our food, and once we’re done, I get up and walk to Angelo. I take his empty plate and carry the dishes to the kitchen.
I load everything into the dishwasher, and when I step into the main part of the kitchen, it’s to find Angelo eating the leftover food straight from the pan.
“Crap, I’m sorry. I’ll dish up more for you next time.”
“The portions you served were fine.” He shakes his head. “But it’s so fucking good, I wanted more.”
A weird sensation spreads over my body because Angelo is enjoying the food I made. Giorgio never had anything positive to say.
He sets the pan down, and closing the distance between us, his hand grips my hip before he kisses my forehead. “Thank you, baby.”
And just as suddenly, he lets go and heads to the fridge. “What do you like to drink?”
I feel so freaking confused. One moment, he’s all fire and brimstone, and the next, he’s…perfect.
“Soda,” I murmur.
“Hmm…we have OJ, cranberry juice, and beer.” He glances at me from over his shoulder, “Which one?”
“Cranberry juice, please.”
He hands me the bottle, then says, “Let’s sit in the living room so we can talk.”
I take a fortifying breath and follow him with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
When I aim for the same spot I sat in before, Angelo says, “No. You’re sitting next to me.”
Shoot.
I change direction and leave space between us as I take a seat.
I open the juice and take a sip while wondering what he wants to talk about.
“Turn your body to face me,” he orders.
I shift and rest my shoulder against the back of the couch before locking eyes with him.
Angelo rests his arm on the cushion behind me, and I feel his fingers in my hair as he says, “I’m sorry about earlier.”
The apology catches me totally by surprise. It’s the last thing I expected to hear from him.
“I was dealing with a…situation when the call came through.”
Before I can censor my facial expression, my eyebrow darts up.
Once again, I’m surprised when he chuckles. “Fine, situation isn’t the right word.”
No, it’s not.
Too brave for my own good, I say, “I heard a man’s voice.”
Angelo lets out a slow breath. “He’s an employee who stole from me.”
“How much did he take?”
“Two thousand.”
Because he doesn’t seem as dangerous as usual, I ask more questions. “And you killed him for it? Why not just let him pay you back?”
He shakes his head, and the darkness returns to his eyes, making me regret my questions.
“Whether someone steals ten dollars or millions doesn’t matter. I don’t give second chances.”
Right.
I nibble on my bottom lip and glance in the direction of the TV.
“About the phone…” My eyes flit back to his face as he says, “I don’t care how much it cost.”
“I don’t understand. Earlier, you killed a man for two thousand dollars, but it’s fine if I pay more than that for a phone?” Again, I instantly regret the words.
His voice is filled with tension as he snaps, “He stole from me, and you’re my wife. There’s a huge fucking difference, Vittoria.”