Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
"Yes."
"And this is why you were screaming my name?"
"I…I was screaming your name?"
"Yes."
"Yes," I whisper.
"Piccolina," he says softly, pressing his lips to my crown. He holds me for a long time just like that, neither of us speaking. And then he sighs quietly and tips my face up to his, brushing his thumbs beneath my eyes to collect tears I didn't know I'd shed. "I'll never deserve you, Callandria, but I'll fight like hell to keep you anyway."
Chapter Eight
Luca
The next two days pass in peace. We don't hear a peep from the Genovese family, and they don't hear shit from us. I spend my days making plans with Rafe and Mattia in case Emilio decides to do anything rash and my nights with Callandria.
We touch and explore. I teach her just how much she loves my wicked mouth. She owns me with hers. But I don't push. I don’t rush her. I fucking can't. She hasn't realized it yet, but she's in love with me. It's fragile and new, as easily lost as her growing trust in me. I refuse to give up either easily.
Late on day two, Emilio demands a sit-down for the following morning. He won't be put off anymore. Rumors are beginning to spread, and his hold on the Genovese empire is precarious.
"Fuck," I growl into the phone when Rafe delivers the news. "Fine. I'll do it. But Callandria won't be there. And if he insults her, he does so at his own peril."
"You're in love with her," my older brother says. There is no surprise in his voice, no judgment.
I hesitate to tell him anyway, unwilling to let her or my feelings for her be used as ammunition in whatever is coming our way. As head of the family, Rafe doesn't always have a choice. He does what he has to do because he must.
"I'll take your silence as an answer," he says dryly. "Does she know?"
Does she? Perhaps. I've certainly tried to show her, but I haven't spoken the words. I've been waiting…for what? I don't know. Dio. I'm an idiot. I want her heart but haven't given her assurance that she has mine. She dreams of losing me, but I keep my truth guarded, waiting for her to give me every piece of her soul.
She already has mine, but does she know that? The possibility that she doesn't is worrisome.
"I have to go," I mutter to Rafe.
"Be here in the morning, Luca," he reminds me. "We'll meet him at the deli."
"Fine." I disconnect and go in search of Callandria.
I find her in the kitchen with Ricardo, Antonio, and Alessio, playing poker. Judging by the disgruntled looks on Antonio and Alessio's faces and the pile of chips in front of her, she's not losing.
"How much do they owe you, bella?" I ask, stepping up behind her to examine the cards in her hand. She has a pair of fours. The rest of her hand is shit.
"I stopped counting a while ago," she says cheerfully. "I'm not sure they've ever played this game before, Luca."
Antonio grunts.
I chuckle as Alessio's lips purse like he just tasted something sour. They've probably been playing poker for longer than she's been alive.
Callandria tosses a three into the discard pile. "Hit me, please," she asks Antonio.
He slides another card across the table to her.
She peeks at it and laughs to herself before tossing another $100 chip into the center of the table. The card is a five. Completely useless with the hand she has, but her bluff works.
Alessio dabs sweat from his brow.
"I fold," Ricardo says, tossing his cards down on the table. "I know when my old ass is beaten."
"Me too," Alessio mutters in disgust, tossing his cards down.
Antonio eyes his cards and then Callandria, who simply smiles at him. "Fuck it," he growls. "I'm out too."
"Sei coniglios," I say, laughing at all three of them.
"Vaffanculo," Antonio mutters without heat. "You try playing against her. She's una principessa spietata."
"Show them your cards, bella."
She lays her cards out on the table, showing her hand.
Ricardo laughs, slapping the table.
"Cristo," Alessio mutters.
Antonio merely looks at me as if to say 'See? She's ruthless.'
"Who taught you to play, piccolina?" I ask her as she scoops her chips into a pile, humming quietly.
"Marcello and my bodyguards. I hounded them when I was little until they taught me everything they know," she says.
I nod, satisfied with her answer. Judging by Alessio and Antonio's expressions, they didn't ask. "You assume because she's a principessa that she grew up in some bubble or that she's delicate," I say quietly. "You know nothing. A principessa's spine is forged from steel and covered in diamonds. She's the most dangerous person in any room she walks into because she's the smartest and she's willing to risk the most. Her survival depends on it. Don't ever forget that again."