Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Sadly, that would be the easiest ending.
No, that won’t work.
Back in the manor, I charge for my wing and then my room.
If my sister’s fiancé kills her for her runaway-bride bullshit, then my father will kill his sister. And brother. And mother. Basically, anyone the shark of the south district has ever so much as smiled at, while the man himself is forced to watch—Father is nothing if not thorough.
No one harms his family and lives.
The problem is the Fikile family is as powerful as they are because Enzo Fikile is as ruthless as Rayo Revenaw.
Blood for blood.
Tit for tat.
Wife for life.
Boston fucked them over, and the moment they realize it, they’ll fuck us right back. Returning the steep price paid for her won’t fix the issue.
In our world, it will only insult Enzo more.
He misses the money as much as my father notices he has it, which he doesn’t.
The fee was more of a technicality, a show of good faith that if Enzo were to fall and nothing be left in Boston’s name, that stipend would go to her. It’s literally wasted money sitting in an account that technically doesn’t exist, so Uncle Sam can’t come knocking.
The real transaction will be the tying of our names, the contract she signed alongside her wedding license, which is set to be filed soon. A union between two powerful families, merging the northern and southern district crews once and for all—something no one has ever been able to accomplish. Something the eastern and western gangs won’t take kindly to when—not if—this goes public.
Something the youngest, hidden heir to our cardinal compass, the girl who belongs in the east wing here in Greyson Manor would be forced to do when the time came.
This is why my father wants Boston here, because you can no more storm the grounds of the Greyson Estate than you can the White House.
Greyson Elite is neutral territory and the only of its kind, a boarding school for children of power. We have gangsters’ daughters and cartels’ sons, future kings and secret princesses, be it the royal or Mafia kind, and the rare few who are hoped to be or heard to be worthy of more than their parents’ rank in our world would offer—finding those jaded gems is the job of the chancellor and his most trusted. It’s how Kenex and Kylo, the Greco brothers, found their way here, much to my father’s dismay. An outside council member had worked with them before, but they needed proper training.
Boston was born into this life and was once worthy of it, though the head position was given to me. Now she’s a liability, one I’ll have to handle as it’s my blood she shares. My family name.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t have the answer to fix the problem. I always have an answer, but a deal was made, and she broke it. There is no way around that. You’re nothing if not your word where we come from. Forgiveness is not a practiced action in our world. My sister could literally pay with her life.
Damn her!
Frustrated, I step into my closet, kick my heels wherever they may land and tear my dress over my head, dropping it to the floor. My closet is color coordinated, so I move to the black section, slip on a long-sleeve bodysuit, and wiggle into a pair of dark, formfitting slacks that come up to my belly button and choke my ankles.
The mirror glows and I cock my head, looking over my outfit.
Yeah, knee-high boots are a must.
I eye a royal-blue pair, but in the end, I’m in a mood.
“Black it is.” I slide them on, zipping them up behind the calves, grab my bag, and head for the stairs.
I pass Saylor and Jasper on my way; Calvin’s door is ajar as I step onto the landing, but no one stops me, and I don’t look back. I curve through the hall, past the music and dining rooms, and press the code for the garage.
The giant glass doors slide open and the slight chill from the massive underground space smacks me in my face.
When I press the key fob, my baby purrs to life, the rumbling of the engine a strong, settling sound that causes the haywire sensation in my chest to settle slightly.
The door rises for me on my command, and I climb inside, my fingers curling around the steering wheel, following it around until my fists touch.
I close my eyes and slam the gas pedal to the floor before the door has even sealed shut, smashing my foot on the brake just as quickly. Only then do I open my eyes, and a smirk pulls at my lips.
Three inches is all that separates me from the steel doors leading to the underground tunnel. That’s closer than last time.