The Guardian Read Online Georgia Le Carre

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
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It made me feel bleak again.

With a long, somber sigh, I stared at the inviting bed before me. I was wide awake and the bed looked especially lonely. So I turned around and exited the room and headed down to the bar. I sat on the stool by myself, ordered a Long Island iced tea, and sent him a message.

I’m at the bar. In case you’re searching.

Then I began to read all that was available about Dante’s case online. Then I went further back and began to search for any news on Dante’s case from when we had first met in our teenage years.

Chapter 23

Dante

Iwas unable to rest from the moment I received her message, but since she at least informed me, I wasn’t as irritated.

“She’s alone, Boss,” Lorenzo said. “At the bar.”

“Keep an eye on her and if anything’s amiss or she starts getting too tipsy, call me.”

I went straight to shower and worked for an hour. There were no messages from the men which was odd to me because I didn’t expect her to still be at the bar.

I placed the call and found out she was.

“She’s getting to the tipsy stage, Boss,” Giotto said.

It was just gone midnight and although the lobby was still bubbling with activity, things had dwindled down and were a lot calmer. I headed straight for the hotel bar which was deserted except for her and my guys in one corner trying to look surreptitious and failing badly. Her head was lowered but her drink remained slightly elevated in her hand.

I sat on the stool next to her. She was the closest thing I had to family now. Marco’s family was my family.

“Three and a half Long Island iced teas,” she mumbled. “That’s what you want to know, right?”

“Alcoholism is the new habit you’re taking up?”

She blinked as though she couldn’t comprehend the question. Then she downed the last of her cocktail and ordered another.

“Cranberry juice,” I mouthed to the bartender and his brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

Still, he respected my instruction when he saw she wasn’t exactly coherent. He passed it over and I watched as she took a sip.

Her face wrinkled with distaste, but to my relief, she kept drinking. Then she set the glass down with a cute “ah”. I couldn’t help but admit seeing her this carefree, though it was alcohol induced, was a pleasant sight to behold. The only thing I’d seen her experience since her father died was grief and unhappiness, and if staying at this bar for a while longer would make her feel a little merry, I was willing to participate. After all, I was by her side so she would be safe.

I leaned away and narrowed my eyes at her. She did the same and for a moment it seemed as though she almost smiled.

God, she was beautiful.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

It was going to be a long night for me. I called the bartender over. She continued to stare at me as I placed the order for a neat single malt whiskey.

“I’ve been reading about you,” she slurred. “Did you do the bad things that Ugo jerk did too?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” I said.

“Oh!”

“I told you, Zola. I was a street boy. I stole cars, I robbed, I sold drugs, and if I had stayed with Ugo I would have over time gone on to kill people too. The only thing that stopped me was that night when he asked me to drink his piss. Everything came to a screeching halt in that nightclub. The girls, the drugs, the champagne, the glamorous lifestyle, it was all a lie. The inside was rotten and infested with crawling, wriggling maggots. I saw what I had allowed myself to become and what I would become if I drank his piss.”

“I’m glad you didn’t drink the piss,” she whispered.

My drink arrived and as the barmen set it down, long slender fingers closed around it and snatched the glass away. I watched her lift it to her lips. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine and my heart began to pound.

“It’s time for you to go to bed?” I said and my voice sounded thick.

“I don’t want to go to bed. I want another drink. A real one.”

I signaled to the bartender and he ordered another cranberry juice.

“I’m not drunk, you know,” she denied hotly.

I watched her hooded eyes, her dangerously swaying body, and knew she would be crashing to the ground very soon. I got to my feet and was just in time. She wobbled, tilted, and dropped right into my arms.

I knew she could walk but it would be faster if I just carried her. I did exactly that, but all she did was protest. The scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils as she wriggled against my body. God knew I wasn’t into drunk women, but sexual awareness frizzled up my spine making my cock hard with need.


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