Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You can’t,” he says flatly.
“I know. That’s the point.”
He sighs. “Raven—”
I throw my hand in his face. “Don’t even say it. Don’t even say that if I had stayed away from Vinnie Gallo, none of this would be happening.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. Christ.” He sits down on the sofa, running his hands through his hair. “You think I want to keep you from someone you love? None of us wants to do that. The thought of not being able to be with Savannah…” He closes his eyes, wincing slightly. “It hurts just to think about.”
“You said Savannah and Vinnie stayed here.”
“They did. I was with Savannah. She had to be hidden from the McAllisters. That’s how I ended up violating my parole. I had to go to that hearing.”
“Yeah. I know. And I understand why you did it.”
“I know you do. I’m so sorry you have to be separated from someone you love.”
I sigh. “He left me, Falcon. But I don’t for one minute believe that he doesn’t love me.”
“I don’t believe that either,” Falcon says. “That’s why you’re in danger, Ray.”
12
VINNIE
Daniela Agudelo is not eleven years old. She’s a beautiful young woman with gorgeous olive skin, hair that’s black as night, and dark chocolate eyes. Her lips are painted ruby red, her lashes long and lush.
Not eleven by a long shot. Probably early twenties. The documents said eleven. How did Mario get the age wrong?
“You must be Mr. Gallo,” she says to me in only slightly accented English. “I’m Daniela.” She holds out her hand.
I shake it lightly. “It’s a pleasure. I was told you were eleven.”
She chuckles. “I’m not sure where you got your information. I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a few months.” She pouts her lips. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Gallo.”
“Yes, the feeling is mutual,” I say.
She gestures toward the dining room. “I hope you enjoy the meal. Our chef has prepared ceviche de camarón con mango for an appetizer.”
“Sounds great.”
She narrows her gaze. “Would you do me the honor of sitting by me?”
“Of course, Señorita Agudelo.” I hold the chair for her as she sits down.
I take my own chair and read the printed list of courses at my seat.
Ceviche de camarón con mango.
Ajiaco Santafereño.
Lomo al Trapo con Chimichurri.
Ensalada.
“Ensalada means ‘salad,’ I know that.” I point at the remaining entries on the list of courses. “What are all the rest of these?”
Daniela smiles. “The ajiaco is a traditional Colombian soup with three types of potatoes, shredded chicken, corn, and a touch of guasca leaves. It’s garnished with heavy cream and capers, served alongside avocado slices and white rice.”
“Sounds very tasty,” I say.
Daniela smiles. “It is, Señor.”
“And this next thing. With chimichurri?”
She nods. “Lomo al Trapo, the main entrée. It is our chef’s specialty. Beef tenderloin cooked directly over hot coals while wrapped in a salt-covered cloth and served with a fresh chimichurri.”
“Which is…?”
“A sauce made from cilantro, parsley, garlic, and olive oil. The beef will be accompanied by golden baby potatoes roasted with herbs and coconut rice.”
“Which brings us to the salad. What does your chef usually serve with his?”
“I believe tonight’s salad will be made with hearts of palm, ripe avocados, and cherry tomatoes in a lime vinaigrette.”
“It all sounds wonderful,” I say. “You speak as if you have more than just run-of-the-mill culinary knowledge.”
Her face brightens. “I’ve always been interested in the culinary arts.” She then casts her gaze to the floor. “Unfortunately, my father doesn’t value higher education for women.”
I frown. “Yes, that sounds familiar. My grandfather doesn’t either. I, however, don’t share that philosophy.”
Her big eyes widen. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
She takes my hand delicately. “I understand you’re promised to a young lady back in Texas.”
“I am.”
Just the thought of Belinda being promised to me makes me nauseated. Not because I’m engaged to an eleven-year-old. That marriage will never happen. But because of what she’s going through—possibly this very moment—at the hands of her father.
“I am promised as well,” she says. “To Señor Vega.”
I stop my jaw from dropping. Vega must be in his sixties.
“I guess I just assumed he was already married.”
“He was. His first wife passed away eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
A staff member brings in the first course. “Wine, señor?” he asks me. “It’s Argentinian Malbec.”
“Yes, please.”
The staff member nods and fills my wine goblet.
I take a drink, letting the fruity wine glide over my tastebuds.
Daniela takes a second glass, clinking it to mine. “So tell me, Señor Gallo, what are your interests?”
She’s asking about my interests? That’s odd.
“My only interest here is making a deal work with your father and, apparently, your fiancé.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’d like to offer you my services.”
I nearly spit out the splash of wine in my mouth. “What do you mean your services?”
She bats her eyes. “My father asked me to…take care of you this evening since he’s not here to see to your entertainment.”