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)
After the first time Giorgio hit me, I cried my eyes out. I couldn’t understand why he changed so much, but with time, I realized he was always evil and just hid it from our parents.
I dart across the hall to my bathroom and grab a couple of Advils to help with the dull ache in my side.
Walking to the living room, I stop by the side table to pick up my handbag. I set it down on one of the couches before seeing pieces of shattered glass scattered on the floor and whiskey trickling down the wall.
Letting out a sigh, I head to the kitchen to get everything I’ll need to clean the mess Giorgio made.
You can hold out for two more years. You need your inheritance so you can make a fresh start somewhere else.
I collect all the pieces of glass and throw them in the trash before wiping down the wall.
When I’m done with the chore, I walk back to the kitchen.
It’s my favorite place in the world. I love baking and cooking. Needing to take my mind off the crap I’m dealing with, I start to make apple pies for the coffee hour we always have after Mass.
While I peel one apple after the other, the tension slowly drains from my body, and the painkillers lessen the ache in my side.
Cutting the apples into slices, I dream about meeting a loving man in whatever small town I move to. We’ll have a white-picket fence around our house. Maybe three or four kids and a dog.
I’ll be a stay-at-home mom, making sure my husband has a delicious dinner waiting when he returns from work.
I’ll be far from Giorgio and the Cosa Nostra, and with time, I’ll even forget they exist.
After Sunday Mass, I hurry to the tables where everyone gathers for tea and coffee and quickly switch on the urns.
It’s been two weeks since the incident at Piccola Sicilia. Giorgio seems to be on edge about the money he owes Mr. Rizzo and has taken his stress out on me. He even tried to get me to sign a document stating he would be my beneficiary should I die.
Shaking my head, I still can’t believe he thinks I’m so stupid that I’d sign my own death warrant. I know the moment I sign that document, he’ll get rid of me. Giorgio wants my money, and he’ll kill to get it.
With the danger increasing by the day, I’m not sure I can hold out for another two years, but I don’t know what else to do.
If I go to Aunt Maria, Giorgio will find me there. It will place her in a horrible position because she and the rest of my family are bound to the laws of the Cosa Nostra.
Even if I ask her for money so I can run away, she will get in trouble for aiding me. Nothing happens without the Cosa Nostra knowing about it.
Feeling miserable, I let out a sigh.
“Did you bring three pies?” Rosa asks as she joins me behind the tables.
I force a friendly smile to my face. “Yes, but there seems to be more people than usual.”
“Keep a slice for Father Parisi.”
Nodding, I take the pies from their containers and place a slice on a plate. Rosa prepares a cup of tea, and while she takes the beverage and pie to Father Parisi, I begin to help the parishioners who are already milling around the table.
I keep smiling and greeting everyone, and soon, the rush passes, and I’m able to pour myself a cup of coffee.
My head is lowered when I hear a voice rumble, “Morning, Vittoria.”
My eyes snap up, and I accidentally pour hot water over my hand. “Ouch!”
“Are you okay?” Rosa asks while Mr. Rizzo, who’s scared the living hell out of me, rushes around the table.
When he gets close to me, my mouth instantly goes dry, and my heart sets off at a wild pace. Rosa darts to the end of the table to get away from us and cautiously watches Mr. Rizzo.
Not a single soul here will dare go against Angelo Rizzo.
He grabs a dishcloth from the table, and taking hold of my hand, he pats my skin dry before inspecting the red spot.
My eyebrows fly up, and my lips part in shock.
His voice is still a low rumble as he mutters, “It doesn’t look too bad. You need to be more careful when working with boiling water.”
With eyes as wide as the saucers on the table, I stare at Angelo Rizzo as if he’s lost his mind.
Does he actually care about me burning my hand?
His gaze snaps to mine, and just like before, I feel the punch of his brutal gaze.
I pull my hand free from his, and swallowing hard, I ask, “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”