The Woman on the Jury (Costa Family #7) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: Costa Family Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
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After the hospital, I hit a few stores to get some more food and essentials in my house, grab some more books from the library, before I finally went home for the night.

“I’m sorry if you’re missing out on Friday night stuff,” I said, taking the bags from him as we stood out front of my building.

“Won’t be here all night,” he said, shrugging it off.

“Right. Of course. Well, thanks for being here,” I said, giving him a smile.

“I’ll knock when it’s shift change,” he said. “No need to answer, though,” he added.

With that, I was shut up in my apartment for the night, listening to the neighbors have some sort of party, their music thumping, their laughter still somehow rising above it.

It was the first time in a long time that I felt incredibly… alone.

Normally, if I was feeling lonely, I would drop in with my grandfather. Or, if she didn’t have something else going on, go hang out at Lauren’s for the night.

My grandfather had enough of me during my visit, his eyes getting droopy by the time I was saying goodbye. And I didn’t want to reach out to Lauren. Because hanging out with her would mean having to lie to her. I just didn’t want to get caught up in that ugly cycle.

So I just made my tea and flipped through my books. Tried to get lost in a show.

Sometime later, the knock came. And I could hear his feet shuffling away before I could even think to get up to check.

I got up anyway, walking toward the window that looked down on the street, seeing my guard emerge, and share a few words with Venezio, then head off down the street, disappearing into the shadows.

Venezio was in his usual uniform of jeans, Timbs, and a leather jacket. But he’d added a black beanie tonight, likely having heard that it was going to dip below freezing.

I climbed into bed, staring out the window, but lost in my mind, in thoughts of someone I had no business thinking about.

Eventually, sleep won out.

But I wasn’t dreamless.

Oh, no.

I was twisted and tangled in bedsheets, feverish from my fantasies as I rolled around in bed with Cosimo Costa, hearing that deep, smooth voice of his saying all sorts of wicked things in my ear.

It was a crash that shocked me awake, feeling sweaty and disoriented, unsure where the sound came from, if maybe a neighbor had fallen, thrown something, punched a wall, or was just having really good, wall-banging sex like I’d been dreaming about.

It wasn’t until I heard the footsteps moving across my room that I realized what it was.

My door.

My door being broken open.

A scream caught in my throat, wanting to alert Venezio to the threat.

But before a sound could escape me, a hand was slapping down over my mouth, and a body was coming over mine in the bed.

Panic shot through my body, little electric shocks that moved through each limb until I felt like I was buzzing with it, like I was shaking.

No, wait.

I was shaking.

The adrenaline was coursing through my veins as my heart hammered in my chest, my breath felt caught in my chest as my hands rose, nails scraping at the hand pressing down on my face.

The bed whined as the man shifted over me.

My room was dark, but I could make out the whites of his eyes as his knees pinned my thighs to the bed.

The pressure bruised into my skin as his other hand pressed into my throat.

“You stupid bitch. You thought you’d get away with this?” he snarled.

How was this happening?

Where was Venezio?

Was he hurt?

If not, how had this guy gotten past him?

If he was hurt, was he so hurt that he couldn’t call for help?

Was I completely on my own?

I wasn’t alone.

I had neighbors.

And the building was relatively quiet right now, save for the droning of TVs left on to drown out the sounds of the city.

If I could get his hand off of my mouth, I could scream. If I screamed, I had to believe that someone would come for me. Or at the very least call the police.

Would that save me, though?

Would there be enough time?

The hand slid from my neck, slipping lower instead.

“You’re gonna wish you didn’t fuck up that trial,” he said, hand grabbing the top of my tank top, and yanking down.

Something unfroze in me right then.

I still could only see shadows.

But those eyes.

I could see those eyes.

I pulled my hands from his wrist, curled my fingers, and threw my hands forward, thumbs going for those whites.

The howl that escaped him let me know I’d struck true.

Using his shock and pain to my advantage, I yanked my legs out from under his knees, sending his body toppling to the floor.

I rushed off the bed, yanking my tank top back up as I started to move across my apartment, hopes on the fire escape.


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