Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t kill the Devil, baby girl. Only a god can kill a demon. That asshole who shot Marcello is far from one.”
My eyes met his cold blue irises that looked sadder than usual. He was so beautiful my throat just about closed up.
“If he dies… I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much, Luca.”
Luca curved his arm around me and rested my head on his hard chest. “It’s okay, baby. Shh…” He kissed my sweaty head, stroking his fingers through my hair. “Close your eyes, pretty girl. It will all be over soon.”
“No, it won’t. Those men will come back for me. This is only the beginning. Isn’t it?”
He nodded. “They will return. Next time, they’ll have more resources.” Luca swiped a tear from beneath my eye. “We will be ready.”
I glanced around the room. A worried Sonny shoved a hand through his messy blond hair, biting the inside of his cheek. Drake had tears in his eyes as he watched Pops operate. When he caught me looking, he turned his head and wiped his eyes.
Arlo waited outside the plastic curtain, his arms crossed with his back to us. His gaze hadn’t shifted from Marcello, not once. Bastian and Damian leaned into each other, speaking in hushed tones. Their faces were as cold and emotionless as marble. Like Luca, I couldn’t get a read on them. None of the Salvatores wore their emotions on their sleeves. They had learned from an early age how to bottle them up.
I recognized a few of the men from the Midsummer Night’s Dream masquerade ball. They waited on the other side of the room, huddled around each other with their focus on Marcello. Members of The Devil’s Knights.
Cole Marshall, the tallest of the bunch, had white-blond hair styled off his forehead. He was twenty-one, the youngest and newest Knight. He wore hunter green fatigues and a fitted shirt that made his big biceps look more prominent. His family owned and ran a military academy for boys, where Cole had lived for most of his life.
A man in his mid-twenties stood beside Cole, tugging on his tie. The other blond beside him shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They had light blond hair and sun-kissed skin. Sonny was the oldest of the Cormac boys. He had two legitimate brothers and a half-sister. I wasn’t sure which brother was older, Callum or Finn, but they both resembled Sonny.
I closed my eyes, attempting to block out the beeping monitor. To forget about the man who held me at knifepoint. The bullet lodged into Marcello’s liver.
My grandfather yelled, “We’re losing him.”
With those words, I moved toward the curtain, following the sound of his voice. Luca shouted my name, but I couldn’t make out the rest of the words over the ringing in my ears. My pulse thumped in my neck, pounding so hard and fast it was ready to escape.
I stopped beside Arlo. He stood painfully still, his eyes on his son, who was dying before our eyes. Lights flashed before my eyes, Marcello’s name a whisper on my lips. More sounds penetrated the air, voices reaching a higher octave. My body felt weighed down, the gravity of the situation taking over.
Legs trembling, I pushed out my palm to steady myself, but it was no use. Machines screeched in my ears. Pops yelled something, and as his face came into focus, someone moved behind me. They grabbed my arm, crushing me against a hard chest.
I squirmed, a scream ripping from my lips as someone jammed a needle into my arm. “No,” I slurred.
“He’s gone,” someone said from a distance.
Before I could process his words, I lost my footing, and the room swirled around me.
Luca
I stood beside my father, who crossed his arms over his chest, watching the medical team work on my brother. We were the same height, six foot three inches, and had the same black hair and rugged features. Most people hated my father, but they also respected him. It was difficult to look past his cruelty.
I’d known from an early age he was preparing me for the harshness of the world. Every scar was a lesson, a reminder of how tough I needed to become to survive. I remembered each one when I looked in the mirror. The scar on my shoulder was from his belt buckle and served as a lesson in obedience.
On my back, I had a long, jagged scar, the one Alex kissed the night we met. That was a lesson for selfishness. My actions had almost gotten my brother killed, and Dad whipped the shit out of me for it. For most of my life, I was reckless and out of control. Chaos called to me, taunting me to stir up more drama.