Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Raf arches a brow but keeps the rest of his expression neutral, never willing to give anything away too freely. “Tried?”
“And failed.” My huff fills the car’s cab with humidity. “Clearly.”
He smiles as if he is loving seeing a side of me I’ve not displayed in an extremely long time, but since my political career is always at the forefront of his mind, he signals for Darius to go around the firetruck, which has come to a stop at the front of Mara’s building.
We make it half a block before Rafael’s inquisitiveness gets the better of him. “Is she sick?”
I almost nod until the teasing flare in his eyes announces his question isn’t regarding Tillie.
It is referencing Mara.
When I shake my head, his brows furrow. “Then why were you making soup?” As he rubs his hands together, he corrects, “Then why were you trying to make soup?”
“Because I was hungry.”
He doesn’t believe my lie.
He never does. It is one of the reasons I don’t bother.
My heart hammers my ribs when I give honesty a whirl for the second time tonight. “Mara isn’t sick. Her child is.”
We cross an intersection and travel another half a block before Rafael’s shock clears enough for him to speak. “She has a kid?”
I tilt my chin to hide my smile before bobbing it. “Yeah.”
Tillie has a lot of similarities to her mother—the main one is her ability to instantly disarm me. I want to protect her as much as I want to protect her mother. The easiest way for me to do that is to keep as much distance between us as possible. There’s just something about Mara that makes that seem impossible. When it’s just us, it is like no one else exists.
The way I pinned her to her refrigerator with my crotch announces this without prejudice.
Needing to see the expression Rafael will fight to conceal, I twist my torso to face him before saying, “From the birthday cards on the fridge, she turned ten last week.”
“She?” He undertakes the fight of his life to conceal his worry. His act is as woeful as my heart’s assurance that my interests in Mara don’t stem from a hero complex.
Fixing the mistakes of others was the entire basis of my childhood. Even if I wasn’t responsible for breaking it, I was expected to fix it. My endeavors to mend the unfixable only stopped when my gallantry arrived ten minutes too late.
No amount of glue can fix death.
When I nod, Rafael licks his lips, his scrutiny too hot to ignore. “I didn’t see anything about a kid in her dossier.”
“The dossier I asked you to get rid of?” My fury can’t be hidden in my tone or expression.
“An hour ago.” When my hands ball, he speaks faster. “Or three. Who’s counting?” He continues talking before I remind him that time management is task one of his job description. “Hiding shit takes time, Ark, and I figured since you asked me to get rid of it, you’d want me to hide it deep.” Nothing but honesty rings in his tone. “I also thought you’d want to see this before I bury it.”
I hiss when he flips open a manila folder and hands it to me.
The images are grainy, but they turn my blood to stone.
“What happened?”
As I flick through still surveillance images of Mara being assaulted at a bus stop not far from the Chrysler building, Rafael gives me a basic rundown. “She stayed back to help clean up a party her last employer held. She was jumped by a low-ranked thug on her way home. He took her purse, a fake tennis bracelet, and this…” He dumps a photograph of a pendant, which I’m confident doubles as an heirloom. It’s a family crest I swear I’ve seen before.
“Was her assault reported to the authorities?” I ask through a tight, stern jaw.
My thigh muscles spasm when Rafael shakes his head. “But the perp was caught and appropriately sentenced.”
I’m confused until he encourages me to flip toward the end of the dossier. The final few images show a blonde-haired woman assisting Mara from the ground and onto a bus.
“That’s—”
“Zoya Dokovic.”
Rafael whistles as if impressed. I don’t know why. I thought Zoya’s husband would be my biggest rival while running for office, so I’ve kept tabs on everyone in his realm. I had no clue Kazimir would step back from the role he was born to do when his grandfather died.
I can only hope his father will follow suit. He’s currently beating me in the polls, even with him not having a wife at his side during early campaigning.
The widow title will forever triumph over the playboy title when it comes to the minority vote.
“Kazimir took out the trash within hours of the assault being reported to him.” Rafael looks confused. I understand why when he says, “Mara is in favor with both the Dokovics and the Ivanovs, so why the fuck is she living in a dump on the wrong side of town?”