Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I had no idea.”
Tears filled his eyes, and he squeezed them tightly shut. She shouldn’t be apologizing to him for losing the baby. He knew who was responsible for this, and as far as he was concerned, he’d dealt with the slight that had been dealt to them.
“I wanted that baby,” Abriana said. “So much.”
“It’s okay.” He stroked her hair with a light touch.
“I wanted something to love and hopefully, one day, it would love me back.”
He really wanted to squeeze her tighter, but he didn’t, afraid of hurting her. “I took care of it.”
“Of what?”
“Of Garofalo. Vigo. They’re dead.” He pulled away to look into her eyes. They were flooded with tears.
“I watched them kill my sister. They mocked her love for Garofalo. She was in love with him, and he’d been sleeping with her for years. He’s a monster.”
“Was. He’s not anymore.” He gently cupped her cheek, knowing he needed to tell her something.
“Have you started a war? Is this it? The end? Raven told me there was a risk you’d die.”
“I’m not dead. There’s no war. Drago made sure of that.”
“Drago?”
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you. Something only a few people in the club know.”
She frowned, watching him.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to find the words. “My name … is Umberto Garofalo.” Her eyes went wide. “Nico Garofalo was my father.”
“That’s not possible.”
“My mother was underage when she had me. Garofalo didn’t want to deal with what he’d done. She was sixteen, terrified, and I do know she left me on church steps. She gave me his name, hoping one day I’d clearly find him. I grew up in foster care, as the church couldn’t keep me. They were broke, and I think they were petrified of finding out who my father was.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“One day when I was ten years old, Drago came to the foster home. He’d heard about an Umberto Garofalo, and he told me I needed to drop the name. If Garofalo was to ever find out who I was, he’d kill me, wiping away all evidence of his little scandal. There can never be any evidence. My mother was supposed to abort me. That’s what he paid to happen. Instead, she gave birth to me, and put me into care. I didn’t stop using the name. In fact, I didn’t stop using the name until my eighteenth birthday.”
“What happened?”
“I got into a lot of fights. I was angry. I’d never been placed in a home for long, and I liked to fight. It … grounded me. I ended up in one of Garofalo’s organized fights, and that’s the name I went by.”
“Wow,” she said.
“Yeah. Let’s say by the end of the night, I looked more bruised than you do.” He was going to say terrible, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Her bruises would fade away. “I realized to Garofalo, I was something to be ashamed of. He tried to kill me. Wanted me dead, but with Drago’s help, I made it out alive.”
“You found the MC.”
“Umberto Garofalo died a long time ago, Abriana. I’m Ugly Beast. I know you hate calling me that.” He cleared his throat and pulled out his license. “I had my name changed years ago.” He held up his license, and she squinted to see.
“Eric Dickson.”
“That’s me. My name.”
“Why that name?”
“I liked it. Now, I just go by Ugly Beast.” He knew she hated saying the name though, always with a little wrinkle in her nose, or she tried to avoid his name. “I respond to Eric.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my wife.”
“I’m mafia.”
“No, you’re not mafia. I’m not sending you back there. We’re done with the mafia. Drago will find someone else to replace Garofalo. The Hell’s Bastards are my life, my club.”
“You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I hate myself. I … failed.”
He took her good hand, still being careful in case he hurt her, and cupped her other. “You’re not a failure. You’ll never be a failure. Not now, not ever. It’s not possible.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “You need to rest though.”
He helped her to get comfortable.
“Thank you for telling me your story.”
“Thank you for listening.” He leaned over her, staring into her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I wish I could rid all the memories you have so you never have to think of what those bastards did.”
She closed her eyes, and for several minutes, he watched her sleep, not caring in the slightest how creepy he looked.
Stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he watched her, amazed at how he felt about her. He nearly lost her last night, and he could still lose her. The power of those emotions unsettled him. He’d never been one to be led in by his emotions, and yet, here he was, terrified for her.