Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
It was honestly just a selfish little desire.
I used to love baths. I’d always been a bath kid when I was growing up. Then, as I got older, baths were always a comfort to me, always what I did after a long day or in times of emotional upset.
But that all changed when I married Eren. And I tried like hell never to be naked for any length of time when there was a chance he might be around.
Not even a locked door ensured my privacy. And I just didn’t want to risk it.
But no one was going to barge in.
So I took off my clothes and slid under the hot water, feeling it ease the tension in my shoulders and back. It even managed to quiet my swirling, increasingly doom-and-gloom thoughts.
I practically fell asleep, only to be jolted back to reality by the knocking on the door.
“Shit,” I hissed, hopping up and scrambling to at least halfway towel off before wrapping myself in my robe. “Just one second,” I called, rushing into my purse to grab money for a tip.
Eren was a terrible tipper.
It had always been a source of anger and embarrassment in our marriage. Anger, because I had been a waitress, because I knew how important tips were to a server’s bottom line. And embarrassment because no one wanted to be associated with someone too cheap to leave a decent tip.
“I’m sorry. I lost track of—“ I started then trailed off as I disengaged the locks and pulled open the door.
And, sure, my cart was there.
But it wasn’t the hotel staff standing there.
No.
It was Brio.
“Don’t worry. I tipped ‘em good,” he declared, motioning to the cart. “He’ll be treating his whole apartment building to lobster kind of good,” he added, shooting me a smirk as I just stood there, too stunned to move or speak or even form any coherent thoughts.
“You gonna let me in?” he asked, his head tipping to the side as his finger traced along the metal top to one of the plates on the cart.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head.
“You know I won’t hurt you,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Right?” he added when I hesitated.
I did know that, didn’t I?
Would he have intervened when Eren was about to beat me over a pair of shoes if he planned to hurt me himself? Or, for that matter, cut off the hands that abused me?
No.
That said, it didn’t mean Brio was a safe person, that I should have been willing to be alone with him.
Why, then, did I move away from the doorway in a universal symbol of invitation?
I had no idea.
All I knew was I did.
And Brio grabbed the cart, and moved inside with it.
“This is a nice room,” Brio declared, walking through it until he reached the windows, looking out at the view. “You want to finish your bath?”
“I, ah, no,” I said, my brain still not completely operational, but I knew for sure I wasn’t going to be taking a bath with a strange man in the room.
To that, he nodded.
“Figure you got the news today,” he said, jumping right into it.
“If by ‘the news’ you mean Eren’s hands on the kitchen counter, then threw up, ran to my neighbor for help, then got questioned by the police after the shock wore off, then, yes, I got the news.”
Brio’s brows furrowed a bit at that, but he said nothing for a long time.
“They found the body about ten minutes back,” he declared. “Stuffed in the trunk along with his driver.”
“His driver?” I asked, feeling like a hand was closing around my throat and tightening.
In a strange way, I could cope with the idea of Eren dying because of how he treated me.
But his driver?
“How many times did he stand by when your husband beat you?” Brio asked, knowing where my mind was heading.
And, well, that was a valid question. The answer wasn’t one I liked admitting.
“Too many,” I said, shaking my head, my gaze sliding down to the carpet.
“He had to go too,” Brio said, tone matter-of-fact.
“Who are you?” I hissed, dropping down on the edge of the bed.
“Told you that already.”
“Not your name. Who are you?”
“Brio. Costa,” he added, making my head snap upward.
Now, I didn’t know a whole lot about Eren and his associates. But I did know the name Costa. Mostly because it was the one name I always heard Eren, his brothers, and the rest of his organization cursing.
The Costa Family.
As in Family.
The New York mafia.
That was who Eren had been screwing over.
Was he out of his mind?
I mean, of course he was. Only crazy people or those with an actual death wish messed around with the mob.
Suddenly, Brio’s brutality and his laisse faire attitude about murder made a lot more sense.
Because organizations like the mafia always had enforcers and hitmen, right?