Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Get. Dressed. We’re flying out in twenty minutes.” She stalks to the door and slams it shut behind her. My fingers tremble as I hold the dress up. I walk to the closet, noticing some of the other dresses are missing. They’ve most likely been packed up.
Fortunately, this dress is knee length and made of cotton. It’s comfortable and black, matching my mood.
I dress quickly and walk to the bathroom, taking note of the missing makeup case. I look into the mirror, my face still pale from the horror, my eyes still wide with shock.
It takes me a moment to let it all sink in.
Is this what they’re seeing? A weak Gia? A scared one?
There is a pounding on the door, and Patanza barges back in, waving a hand. “Let’s go! You don’t have all day! Jefe is waiting!”
She walks up to me, gripping my elbow, nearly dragging me out the door.
“Wait—Patanza! What the fuck!” I snatch my arm away from her, frowning when I meet her eyes. “Why are you being such a bitch to me? I’m not your fucking prisoner anymore!”
Her upper lip twitches and she takes a large step forward, getting in my face now. I don’t back down, not even when she says, “You may as well be a fucking prisoner, Gia. You aren’t my Patrona anymore. You’re just a stupid bitch who doesn’t know how to stay in her fucking place.” She turns her nose up at me. “He told me what happened with Thiago.” She swallows hard. “I thought you would be different. Turns out you’re no better than the rest.”
My mouth gapes, and her frown gets deeper. “Patanza, I—I thought we were—”
“Thought we were what?” she snaps, brows stitched. “Amigas?” Her laugh is bitter as she looks away. “Yeah,” she mutters, turning her back to me. “I thought we were friends too, and I’m sure Jefe thought the same.” She peers over her shoulder with a grimace. “But friends don’t stab friends in the fucking back.” Her back is fully turned to me. Before she’s out the door, she shouts, “Let’s fucking go!”
My feet move to her command before I can even process my thoughts.
3
GIANNA
Everything happens so quickly once I’m out the door of the mansion.
I’m literally tossed into the back of the SUV by Patanza, the driver pulling away without a moment’s hesitation as soon as her door slams shut.
It’s only the driver, plus Patanza, who is sitting in the passenger seat, and me in the vehicle. I twist around, looking back at the mansion as his men and even some of the maids rush in and out, stuffing suitcases and bags into the other cars and SUVs.
“Where’s Draco?” I ask, turning back around, focusing on Patanza.
But she acts like she doesn’t even hear me, looking out of her window instead.
“Patanza, where are we going?” I ask, making sure my voice sounds more demanding than terrified.
“Just shut up and ride.” Her voice is calm. Too calm. She doesn’t seem the least bit worried, and since she isn’t, I assume I shouldn’t be either.
We ride for a long time—I want to say for over an hour.
By the time we stop, the sun is blazing in the sky. The tires of the SUV slow to a creep and then the driver parks. Both the driver and Patanza jump out, Patanza coming for my door while the guard hustles for the trunk.
I slide out of the truck and she turns, walking to a warehouse not too far away. I follow her, the driver behind me, suitcases in hand. She enters the building, and there are people inside. I pause a moment, stunned.
I wouldn’t be so surprised at the sight of them if they weren’t all completely naked beneath black aprons, standing in front of mountains of pure-white cocaine, measuring and bagging it all carefully.
There are three guards posted at the doors, keeping their eyes on the people.
What shocks me most is that none—and I mean none—of them look at us when we come in. They remained focused on their work, not even batting an eyelash. This must be one of Draco’s many production centers.
I follow Patanza through a gray door with a SALIDA sign above it. EXIT. As soon as we’re out, a jet comes into view. I slow my pace, but Patanza keeps marching, as well as the driver, who hurries past me without even looking my way.
The jet is sleek and white, the engine already humming loudly as I make my way there, slowly but surely.
There is a tall, gangly man wearing a black baseball cap standing beside the staircase. His skin is heavily tanned, his eyes an electric green when they flash up to meet mine. He asks Patanza something, and when she responds and they both look my way, I know they’re talking about me.