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)
When I’m done with the chore, I leave the kitchen and find Angelo lying on the couch and reading a book.
I stop dead in my tracks and stare at the big, bad mafioso doing something as ordinary as reading.
My mouth tips up in a smile, and walking closer, I ask, “Can I join you.”
His eyes flick to my face. “Of course.” He reaches his hand out, then murmurs, “Come lie by me.”
I’m careful as I crawl over him and lie down half on top of his body. Resting my cheek on his chest, I let out a sigh.
When he continues to read his book, I ask, “Can I watch TV?”
“Sure.” The word rumbles from him before he picks up the remote and hands it to me.
I switch on the TV and find my way to Netflix. I can’t remember which episode I was last on, and to play it safe, I start season two of Virgin River from the beginning.
Getting comfortable, I quickly get lost in the show.
During the second episode, Angelo mutters, “I’d kill half the people in that town just for being annoying.”
A chuckle escapes me. “Yeah, Hope is a bit much, and Charmaine is a conniving witch.”
“Bitch,” he corrects me. “What the fuck did he see in her?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh with happiness.
“The guy needs to grow a pair.”
“Uh-huh.”
After a few minutes, Angelo mutters, “Christ, why do you like this show?”
“It’s fun.”
“If it’s fun you want, all you have to do is ask, baby.”
I let out a burst of laughter and move to the other end of the couch. Lifting Angelo’s legs, I rest them on my lap, then say, “Hush now, I’m missing half of what’s happening.”
He tries to read his book for a while but eventually gives up and watches the show with me. Every now and then, he comments about the people being idiots, making the smile on my face grow wider and wider.
Father Parisi ignores all the other parishioners and rushes to where I’m getting everything ready for coffee hour.
“Tori, I was so worried,” he exclaims, and grabbing my hand in both of his, he asks, “Are you okay?”
I give him a smile to set him at ease. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
Before we can continue talking, Rosa joins us. “That’s a beautiful dress you’re wearing.”
“Thank you.”
It’s one of the new ones Angelo bought for me.
Her eyes dart to where Tiny is standing near a wall. I’ve already given him two cannolis and a cup of coffee. I caught him nodding off several times while Father Parisi delivered the sermon.
“What is he doing here?” Rosa asks.
Bracing for the questions she’s going to unleash on me, I answer, “He’s my guard.”
“What?”
Father Parisi’s attention is drawn away from us by a group of men, and as I continue with my work, I say, “I got married to Angelo.”
“Angelo Rizzo!” she whisper-hisses as she covers her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “God, have mercy.” She motions the sign of the cross before her hands fly to my forearm, gripping it tightly. “I don’t know what to say. Are you okay?” Her eyes flit to Tiny, then she whispers, “I don’t have much, but I have enough for you to run.”
Bless her heart.
Patting her hands, I shake my head. “There’s no need for that. Angelo is good to me.”
“That man doesn’t have a good bone in his body! He’s pure evil.”
“Hush,” I chastise her when I suddenly feel defensive of Angelo. “He’s my husband, Rosa. Don’t disrespect him.”
Her hands jump away from my arm, and she takes a step back, disappointment filling her eyes.
I give her a pleading look as I say, “I’m married to him, Rosa. I made a vow before God, and I won’t break it. This is my life now.”
Understanding where I’m coming from, she nods. “It’s such a shock.”
Trust me, I know.
Widening my smile, I add, “Angelo is really good to me. I’m better off with him than I was living with Giorgio. He’s been nothing but kind and loving with me.”
“Is that so?” I hear a familiar sneer behind me.
Oh crap.
I haven’t seen Giorgio since the wedding, and just hearing his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Turning around to look at him, my eyes widen when I see he’s lost part of his left arm. “What happened? Did you get an infection from breaking it?”
Giving me a brotherly smile I haven’t seen in over seven years, he wraps his other arm around my shoulders and says, “Let’s go for a walk. We have a lot to talk about, Vi-Vi.”
Hearing his old nickname for me throws me for a complete loop, and he manages to steer me toward the opposite side of the room and away from Tiny.
Not wanting to leave the safety of the crowd, I pull back and say, “No. We can talk here.”