Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
"Someone needs to talk," I declared, barely recognizing my own voice as my gaze shifted to Giana.
The relief was like a wave through my system, knocking away the tension that had been bunched up in every muscle thanks to the uncertainty of her whereabouts, my fears about her safety.
She looked amazing.
Better than I remembered.
She didn't dress like my mother, rather wearing a pair of black jeans and a charcoal tee, her long, dark hair free.
No cuts, no bruises.
She seemed fine.
Great, even.
But there was something different, something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
I couldn't place it at first. Until her chin raised up and her gaze leveled with me.
That was a confidence that hadn't been there before.
But what had brought about the change?
"I went to follow through with my order," Anthony supplied. "To make my bones," he added.
To kill Terry.
"But there was a problem. I was too late. Christopher was already there."
"Why were you there?" I asked, gaze moving toward him.
"Well, my job was to find Giana. And I did."
"Alright, for fuck's sake, let's stop with the dramatics," I said. "Someone give me some straight answers."
"I guess that is my place, darling," my mother said, giving me a careful smile. "Yes, Anthony was supposed to take out Terry. And, my love, I very much approve of that decision on your part. But he was too late. Someone else had already stuck a letter opener in that sneaky bastard's carotid. No," she said when my gaze went to Chris. "Your lady friend here was the one who did it."
"What?" my voice hissed out of me, not able to accept this reality. "How... why?"
"Yes, great questions," my mother agreed, but turned to Emilio. "Milo, sweetie," she said, giving him another of those unsure smiles. "You are all grown. Nice belt buckle, by the way," she said, shaking her head at the rooster with the word "Cocky" written under it. "Can you get me a cup of coffee? This is a long story," she said, moving forward to sit down across from me. "Don't you want to say hello to your girl, Enz?" she asked, the old nickname like a punch to the gut, realizing how many years I had missed hearing it, believing she was dead, while all along, she had been very much alive.
My gaze lifted, finding Giana's gray eyes on me, that confidence just a little shakier. My arm lifted, ushering her closer. There was a moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, before she moved across the floor, let me wrap my arm around her waist and pull her down onto my lap.
"I thought you were dead," she told me as soon as she settled.
"I almost was," I agreed, squeezing her. "What happened?"
"Well, I thought you died. And I was alone. And I would have to get myself out of that basement on my own."
"So, that's what happened. You escaped that night."
"Well, yes. And no," she told me, giving me a wobbly smile as Emilio handed my mother a coffee, and me what looked like a glass of whiskey. I had a feeling I was going to need it.
"How yes? And how no?" I asked.
"Well, I had the handcuff key you passed to me. And when Christopher was sent away by your father, I made a plan to get out through the basement window."
"You're probably the only person over ten years old who could fit through that fucking thing."
"I did. Just barely."
"But then how did you not escape?" I asked, reaching up, brushing her hair behind her ear so that I could see her face better.
"Well, I got out," she told me, nodding. "But I didn't run. There was no way to run, with the guards out front. That was the only way out. I'm not that great of a runner, for obvious reasons. So I had another idea."
"And that was?"
"You know something funny?" she asked instead of answering directly.
"I could use something funny right about now."
"All my childhood, I remembered my father getting pissed off if my mother and I made anything with peanut butter in it. I always thought it was just a preference thing. But as I was sitting in that basement, I remembered overhearing my father snapping at my mother when he came home and there were Reeses wrappers on the table. He said something about how she knew he couldn't be around that shit when he had his monthly meeting. It never clicked until I heard your father's guard ask the restaurant to make sure the meals were nut-free. Your dad was allergic. And I just so happened to get my hands on a candy bar while in the basement."
"What?" I asked, my voice a hushed whisper. Because it didn't seem possible.
"He had to go," she said, shrugging. "For you. For me. For everyone in this damn city. He had to go. And I had a way to do it. So I did. And then I snuck right back down to the basement, put my cuffs back on, and waited, so that no one could ever suspect me, so that if I got free, I was truly free. No more looking over my shoulder all the time. When the police were called, I was shuffled out so no one found me chained in a basement. On my way out, though, I stopped for one minute to grab your father's wallet. For money to disappear for a while."