Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Well, it can’t be fun being tied to a chair and beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’d never feel sorry for a Romano,” I growl. “I was just playing a role. Good cop.”
“Ah.” Paolo sips his whiskey. “Makes sense.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he won’t challenge me. As I finish the whiskey, I promise myself that’s all I’ll do from now on—play a role. If I kiss Elena again, it’ll all be for show. I can’t let this feeling spiral into something dangerous like an obsession.
Anyway, she’s playing a role.
I can’t trust the kiss. I can’t trust the sass. I can’t trust her, full stop.
It will be difficult reverting to the cold prick I was before I met Elena, but difficult-but-necessary is the name of the game for a Mafia boss. When I’m Don, I’ll have become an expert at ignoring what I want. Hell, my father only married my mother because he had to. Even if they fell in love after, it doesn’t mean he had any choice.
Who would take over if I suddenly decided I didn’t want to be Don? I’m an only child. It would mean giving the Family to somebody else, somebody who’s not a Moretti. It would mean sacrificing everything my father built when he inherited this Family.
It’ll hurt being cold to Elena on some messed-up level, but it’s necessary. As I was thinking moments before, I don’t know if that kiss was real. She could’ve been moaning just because she felt it was what I wanted. Or maybe she thinks it’ll result in more cash. I don’t think she’s that money-minded, but how can I be sure?
The answer is I can’t. So, I’m back to square one. Get a fucking grip.
CHAPTER NINE
ELENA
“How do I look?” I ask Dario, unable to hide the smile on my face.
When the hair and makeup crew—yep, crew—were doing their work on me, I tried to stay detached and above the whole thing. I tried telling myself I felt like a pig dressed for the market. Yet the more they worked, the more I could see myself as beautiful. That’s rare for me.
Now, I stand in front of Dario in a stylish, form-fitting dress. They’ve made my cheeks even more flushed than they usually are. My hair is up in an intricate style with pins.
Dario stands on the other side of my bedroom in a tuxedo, his freshly shaven jaw tight as he stares at me. “Good,” he says.
I try not to show any disappointment. He’s gone from fiery hot to icy cold all over again. I’m not sure what I expected, but good feels majorly underwhelming. I nod, keeping it all business. “Good enough for the party?”
“You’ll fit in,” he says, offering his arm. “Shall we? The car’s waiting.”
When I take his arm, I’m sure I can sense something in him. It’s strange and difficult to identify. It’s almost like he doesn’t want me to touch him. It’s as if it makes him uncomfortable and so different from when we were all over each other.
I remind myself this isn’t about genuine affection. I’ve got no right to be disappointed. This is about obligation, nothing more.
“Where are your parents?” I ask when we climb into the back of the limo.
“They’re meeting us there,” he says, talking to me but looking out the window. We sit on opposite sides of the limo. He made a point of that when we climbed in. “There’s something you need to know. From now on, if you need to leave the townhouse, you’ll always have security, not just a driver.”
“Security?” A knot tightens in my stomach. “Should I be worried?”
He slowly turns to me. It’s like he’s holding back an army of words. I wonder if I’m reading too much into everything he does. “No, because all of this will be over soon for you. This is part of the Mafia life, Elena: never going anywhere alone, always having to look over your shoulder.”
“Does this have something to do with the charity that was attacked?”
He fiddles with his silver cufflinks. He looks incredibly dashing with his dark hair combed back, his intense eyes seeming somehow annoyed and captivating simultaneously. “You shouldn’t be asking questions like that.”
“You were the one who told me about it to begin with.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Was everything about this morning a mistake?” I challenge.
His lip twitches, but he forces his expression back to his usual unreadable state. “You’re addicted to sassing me. I’m beginning to see that.”
“I find it hard not to sass you when you’re so random with your moods.”
“There’s nothing random in this life,” he snarls.
“Is that supposed to be poetic?”
I fold my arms, looking out the window and watching the city roll by. I’m sure I can see him watching me out of the corner of my eye. I’m sure his gaze moved to my breasts when I folded my arms. I don’t have an enormous amount of cleavage on show, but it’s enough to get his attention. I fold my arms tightly, my skin tingling as he stares at me. I pretend not to notice.