Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes in my clutch, and I unlock the hatch, opening to a text from Revio.
“You skipped out on marrying me. You should probably ask your new guard why…” My blood turns to ice as the words replay in my mind before I quickly shut it off and shove it back into my clutch.
“Who was that?” His voice coats over my skin like it belongs there, and for the sixth time since I met Wicked, I wish I didn’t have him so close and near. I like old Wicked. The one who at least smirked when he put his hands down my pants.
I don’t like this one. The one who doesn’t even want to put his hands down my pants.
I huff on a breath and stare out the back window, ignoring his question. He chuckles, but instead of it being his easy-going tone that he used to use with me, it grazes over me like sandpaper and now I’m worried how I’m going to cleanse myself from it. “You can play that game for a bit. I’ll allow that.”
“Okay, I’m going to ask…” Poppy leans forward, narrowing her eyes on her brother. “What is with the suit, and why the fuck are you both fighting like you’ve had—” She slams her mouth closed as her eyes widen in shock. “Oh my God! You’ve been together!”
“Poppy!” I snap at her lowly, careful not to make it a big deal. “No—”
“—yeah, so?” Wicked raises dark brows at her. “Sit back down, Pop.” We travel the rest of the way in silence, and I swear by the time the limo is pulling up to the curb of the hotel, my skin is on fire and my fingers are itching to get me the hell out of this car. At this point, I’d take Revio’s easy drama over Wicked’s realism.
I swing the door open as soon as the limo stops and rush down the rolled-out red carpet. I don’t care to take in the details of the designs, because I have one place to get to and one only, and that’s as far away from Wicked as possible. I speed up my steps when I see the opening doors to the conference room, shoving through the entry, pausing when everyone stops chatting. Heads turn toward me. It’s like I’m five years old again and busting into Papa’s office during important meetings.
I don’t know who all is here, but I’m guessing it’s the usual. The Cosa Nostra families, the ones we’re not currently beefing with, and their wives.
A hand comes to my hip, forcing me backward and everyone goes back to their conversations. It’s as though the music starts playing again and the chatter gets louder.
“You’re to stay beside me, Ruby,” he whispers from behind, and I hate the way my knees turn to jelly in response.
I bite down on the inside of my cheeks to stop from shoving his hands off me. “Or what?”
Wicked moves around my body, leaning so close into my face he almost kisses me. “Go fuck around and find out.” I shove out of his way and make my way to our table that’s near the front stage. I read over the little gold cards with our names and see The Dragon written in cursive that’s seated right beside me.
My finger glides over the little piece of paper, just as Wicked takes it from my hand and flips it downward onto the table. “You don’t need that.”
“You know, you’re really starting to annoy me.”
“Really?”
Finally, I bring my eyes up past the angry veins pulsing in his neck, and to his sharp jaw and pouty lips. “Yes—” I settle on his dark eyes. “Really.”
I wasn’t sure how tonight was going to play out with Giovi and Marcu. They’ve, if anything, been protective over me my whole life. The thought brings a smile to my face. Wicked may have Papa wrapped around his finger, but my cousins are made men and are sixth-generation La Rosas. Wicked doesn’t have a leg to stand on, no matter how big, or scary and mean he may look. I know he’s not as bad as a La Rosa. No one is as bad as a La Rosa.
“You coming home with me tonight too?” I ask, not bothering to hide the smile.
He raises his brow. “Sit the fuck down.”
I lower myself onto the chair as the gala begins. I hate these things. The auctions, the fancy way to say I’m rich as fuck, but I’m also pretending to be a good person. No one here is a good person. I remember the first charity gala I attended as a little girl. I was ten or eleven, and Mama made me wear a ridiculous gown that frilled around my shoulders like fat puffy cushions. I didn’t talk to her for twenty-four hours after that. Safe to say, I was a bit of a brat. She plays house and my father loves and treats her like a precious piece of gold, but make no mistake… There’s one commandment my father does break, and that’s the cheat on my perfect wife commandment.