Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Too busy living in the past?” I say casually, my chest feeling light.
Even if she rejected me for the kiss, her admission about not dating much makes me want her more. At least I don’t have to think of her with other men, except that photo is out there and the bastard who took it.
“Yes, actually,” she says, her smile washing away my concerns, for now at least. “That’s been my whole life. History, history, history.”
“Would it be a stupid question to ask what you want to be when you grow up?”
She pouts at me, her eyebrows raised playfully. “When I grow up… I thought we agreed I was the mature one?”
Reaching over, I gently brush her hair from her face. A shudder of lust moves through her. I can read it in her eyes, in the way she bites her lip, in the little, excited sigh she lets escape her kissable lips. “You don’t have to hide.”
She reaches up and touches my hand. She does it so shyly. It’s like she thinks that at any second, I’ll laugh at her or snatch my hand away. “Yeah,” she murmurs as electricity sparks between us. I’ve never felt heat like this. She’s burning me up just from us touching hands. “I want to be a historian. Maybe a history professor, or a writer, or a researcher. As long as my career is related to history, I’ll be happy.”
I press my hand against hers. “You’ll do it, Ruby.”
“How can you say that?” she says, dropping her hand. “We just met.”
“Call it gangster’s intuition,” I reply, feeling an insane sense of reward when she gifts me with a smile. “I’ve been working like a dog for the past year, and seeing you smile, Ruby, is worth more than all of it.”
“Why are you being so flirty, huh?” she asks.
“Because you’re beautiful. Because I want you.”
“I like how straightforward you are.”
“It’s the best way to—”
As soon as I hear the ringtone, I reach into my jacket pocket and grab the phone. It’s a classical song—Elio’s ringtone. “Yeah?” I say, voice tight. He’d only call me this late if it were serious. “What’s up, Elio? Is it Scarlet? Molly?”
His signal is crappy. His voice keeps cutting in and out. A sick image of him lying facedown comes to me. Ruby stares at me with wide, terrified eyes as if only now realizing how dangerous this mafia life can be. Finally, the signal corrects itself.
“Luca?”
“I’m here.”
“Shitty phone.” He sighs. “Listen, can you come by the club? I’ve got a couple of guys here to see you about a certain photo.”
I swallow, my mind flashing with violence. With Ruby right in front of me, the wrongness of what that sick bastard did slams into me with even more force.
“He’s there now?” I growl.
“He and his father,” Elio replies. “Remember what we talked about. I’m going to broker this meeting. You were right. He needs to pay, but we have to be smart about this. No more parlor talk.”
Parlor talk—funeral parlor—meaning, no more talk about doing what’s right, which is beating this sick fuck bloody and tossing him in the ocean.
“I’ll be there in forty minutes,” I tell him. When Elio sighs, I snap, “I need to drop someone off first. The precious little pervert can wait.”
When I hang up, Ruby looks at me, her eyes wide open, one of them still shielded by her hair. She can’t stop herself from pulling her hair across and hiding herself. Something about it makes me so damn mad. Or maybe it’s the fact that, soon, I’ll be standing face to face with the man who violated her.
“It’s time,” I say. “I need to take you home.”
“Time for what?” she murmurs.
“Time for me to make this right.”
She says nothing for a few minutes as I turn the car around and drive back toward her house. Then she mutters, “You seem really intense all of a sudden, Luca.”
“Do I?” I say, trying to make it sound lighthearted as if there isn’t a fire in me that won’t quit burning.
“What are you going to do to him?”
“After what he did to you,” I growl, “he’ll be lucky if I don’t kill—”
“Don’t,” she cuts in.
“Don’t what? Do the right thing?”
She looks out the window. My palms hurt from gripping the steering wheel too hard and digging my palms into it, imagining it’s Nate’s throat instead. I can’t stop thinking about squeezing until his eyes pop. “I don’t want to think about you hurting people,” she mutters.
I laugh gruffly. Even to myself, I sound like a douche. I almost sound like I’m mocking her. “I’ve hurt people before. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”
More silence. Then she sighs. “I think this was a mistake. I mean, what am I doing? I’m in a car with a stranger.”