Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
I tried to crack a smile, but I don’t think it looked very genuine.
“Tommy tells me you’re perfect. I can see that. You seem calm and together right now despite probably wanting to run for the hills, screaming.”
If only I could. I thought this, but didn’t speak it.
“You’re a spitfire. Beating up my son, pulling a knife on a guard. I think you’ll fit in here just fine. Dario’s been calling you Tia Tyson. You are a fighter.” He tapped my hand gently and then stood up. “My boy has demons. I think you could be the one to exorcise them.” He smiled expectantly. I didn’t know what to say.
“And your father tells me you can cook like nobody’s business. That’s always a good quality in a wife.” He winked at me.
I opened my mouth, wanting to speak but his eyes narrowed just slightly, and I decided against it. I clamped my mouth shut. He looked pleased. It was almost as if I’d just passed a test. I frowned. What a bizarre thing to say right now and what…the …heck?
He stood. “Your husband-to-be should be here any minute. We’ll all have breakfast.”
He left the room.
A moment later Nino returned, saying, “If you’d like to get dressed I can escort you to a guest room.”
I followed him, carrying the bag he’d brought me, mulling over the fact that my father must’ve had a conversation recently with Thomas Ferrano, one where he talked about me at length in a way that would result in my dad talking about my hobbies, my talents. That sort of conversation didn’t typically come into play when someone was threatening you – no, that sort of conversation came with bargaining with someone, trying to sales pitch them. Did my father sales pitch me to Thomas Ferrano?
I couldn’t think about this right now; I had to go back out there and try to act normal around these people. I had to try to act normal because I wasn’t allowed to talk about what had happened this morning, to act as freaked out as I felt. It came crashing down on me, then, that I couldn’t ever confide in anyone about my life without breaking his rules.
I loved my friends, I loved our sessions where we sat and shared information, gossiped, talked hopes, dreams, and uncertainties. How could I not ever share my innermost feelings and what was happening in my life with anyone else? I also thought about Dad and wondered again if he’d had any idea what’d happened to me after I didn’t meet him at the food court in the mall.
It was weird that Nino stood outside the room door while I changed. I reached into my purse and found the basics. I put my hair it in a ponytail, put on some lip gloss, mascara, and eyeliner, and then put my sleeping clothes into the bag and popped the iPhone into the jean skirt pocket and followed him back to the kitchen. There was laughter from a room nearby.
Nino took my bag for me, telling me he’d put it in Tommy’s car, and motioned for me to go ahead through an arched doorway into a dining room.
Tommy was sitting at a large dining room table with Lisa, his father, and Dario. They were all laughing. Platters sat in the middle of the large table filled with breakfast foods. There was enough food to feed ten, rather than five of us.
Tommy’s eyes sparkled as I entered the room and he motioned for me to sit in the empty chair beside him. He looked completely composed, was dressed in a collared dark gray shirt and pair of dark distressed button fly jeans, black motorcycle boots, and he was eating a piece of bacon. I sat beside him and his lips touched my cheek. “You good, baby?” he asked me.
I nodded while shrugging at the same time. “You?”
“Peachy,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows. Then he leaned over and passed me the plate of waffles. He smelled freshly showered and I felt drawn to him, I wanted to climb into his lap, tuck my head under his chin and hold on tight. Of course I didn’t.
We’d just been through a shooting incident where we almost got shot, then where he’d commando-style retaliated and obviously just either killed one or two or had at least watched one or two men die. I’d just witnessed two dead men outside the bedroom and then watched him, clad in only his underwear, interrogate and sucker punch someone who was already black and blue and bloody. I glanced down as he spread jam on a piece of toast. His knuckles were bruised-looking.
Yeah, he’d probably bloodied that guy being interrogated and who knew what’d happened to the guy afterwards? And what he’d said to the guy about me, that the only person who was allowed to put fear into my eyes was him? I felt a raw sensation spread deep inside of me.