Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
He only stops when he hears movement deeper inside the house.
“Bella?” Mom calls.
“I’m here,” I reply, walking into the living room.
“I’m out of the bath. I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if there’s anything …” She hesitates and says, “… I need to know.”
“I will, Mom. Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?” She sounds confused.
“Because you trusted me.”
“I always will!” she calls, her voice trembling like she’s trying to keep herself together. I turn back to see that Matt is leaning against the wall. He’s removed his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves up, showing his firm and powerful forearms. “I take it you didn’t come here just for the smooching?”
“Smooching,” he repeats with a smirk.
“Is something funny?”
“No, it’s just … after the day we had, the fact we can both smile is a goddamn miracle.”
“So you’re basically saying we’re Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61, hmm?”
He flashes a grin. “You’ve got me there.”
“It was a miracle of a composition … so complex, yet he was losing his hearing.”
“You’re too poetic for me,” he says, pushing away from the wall and standing beside me. No, over me, as if he wants to remind me of our size difference. It is as if he needs me to know how much bigger he is, not to intimidate me but to make me feel safe. “But yeah, like that …”
He takes my hand with surprising gentleness. “Sit down, Bella. I need to tell you what’s going on. You deserve to know the truth. Even if it’ll mean you never want to see me again.”
I swallow, my belly twisting with nerves. Cowardly voices hiss inside that I should tell him no. I don’t need to know. I don’t need the truth. All I need is to live in a bubble we’ll create together.
Slowly, I do as he says, sitting on the couch. He sits next to me, never letting my hand go. I shuffle closer to him and rest my head against his shoulder. His body stiffens for a moment, almost like he’s going to push me away, but then he wraps his arm around me.
Let’s just stay like this.
Instead, I say, “You’re a criminal, right?”
He sighs tiredly. “It’s a bit mo—No, you’re right. Yes, that’s what I am.”
“You were going to say it’s more complicated?”
“That’s a copout,” he says. “That’s dancing around the issue.”
“Tell me, then,” I whisper, still stunned at how easy it feels to wriggle closer to him.
“I’m the Don of the DeLuca crime Family,” he says, his tone flat. It’s almost like he’s emotionally distancing himself, just in case I freak. “I took over when my father passed away. He made me promise to lead it well, and I’m doing my best. That’s the reason we’re so wealthy. We’ve been working in the shadows for almost three decades, building legit businesses alongside our other operations.”
I look up at him. He’s staring down at me with his jaw clenched. I can tell he’s readying himself for my reaction, preparing for a rejection.
“What other operations?” I ask. “What do you do? Deal drugs? Hurt people? What?”
“No,” he grunts. “No. Fucking. Way. We could make a lot more money if we dealt with that filth, the things other Families indulge in. My old man always refused, and so do I.”
“How do you make money, then?”
“We run high-stakes gambling operations … off the books. We loan money to people with bad credit. We counterfeit goods. We trade in black-market items such as stolen paintings. We evade taxes. We smuggle high-value goods so that we’re not subject to tariffs. We make fraudulent investments on the exchange. We protect high-value targets like celebrities or foreign oligarchs when they visit the city. We force other gangs to pay us a stipend and to stop their little corner of the city from turning to complete mayhem.” He sighs, leaning back, eyes narrowed as if he’s thinking. “Yeah, that’s it. Apart from that, we run our legit businesses, but don’t let me give you the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
“I don’t want you to think I’m some force for good in the world. I try to walk on the right side of the tracks, as much as my life will allow, but I’ve hurt people, sometimes badly. A lot of the time, I don’t feel a damn thing about it. A lot of the time, I convince myself they had it coming.”
“Hurt them how?” I ask, goosebumps suddenly pricking my skin, making me feel cold.
“Killed them. Maimed them. Tortured them.”
“Who?” I move away from him slightly, a deep-rooted response I can’t do much about.
He looks down at me steadily. “Rival gang members, mostly. Once or twice, I’ve taken out predators, men who deserved it, but other times, it was simply war. Just battle after battle to make sure the DeLucas, and nobody else, rule this damn city.” When I say nothing for long beats, he nods matter-of-factly. “I get it. You don’t want to be around me anymore.”