Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I pour drinks. I ignore the jibes from drunk assholes.
“You okay?” Giulia questions an hour later.
I nod.
I swallow.
I turn away.
“You need a night of debauchery.” She smiles, her whisper clearly loud enough to bring attention to us from one gentleman who’s sitting at the bar. His cool gaze drinks her in and his lips lift into a smirk.
“I’m sure I could oblige you, sweet thing,” he purrs, a deep, seductive tone that has me rolling my eyes. Men like this are bad news. They’re old enough to be my father. The thought chokes me.
“Why don’t you leave me a tip, and we’ll see.” She giggles, trying to bring attention to herself instead of me. The girl who’s about to break down.
Even though she’s right, I’d love to experience having a normal life. Being able to go out, get drunk, dance the night away, but I’m not normal. I never will be. Also, I’m not that type of girl. Lucio had ensured I was safe, never out of my home or his sight. When I was with him, I was in a type of prison. But I grew up in one, so I never knew the difference.
“What about you, Poppet?” he murmurs at me as he lifts his chin in a gesture, but before I can respond, an accented voice that’s as smoky as the most expensive Scotch whisky and as deep as a baritone rumbles behind me.
“She’s busy tonight.” The words sound around me, as if they’re caressing me, stroking me in places I ache to be touched. When I turn to regard my savior, my voice is stolen along with my body.
He’s beautiful. Handsome.
With day-old stubble that covers his square jawline, sharp features, and piercing black eyes he holds me hostage with a stare that’s hot enough to disintegrate my panties.
His mouth looks as sinful as a decadent dessert. But there’s a dangerous aura that seems to waft from him. A sleek jet-black Armani suit which encompasses his broad shoulders. His dress shirt is a deep red, which looks almost black in the low lights of the bar. The silver tie is shiny and pops starkly against the darkness. Tanned skin with that accent tells me he’s Italian. I’ve spent my young life around men like him, with the men who could have killed my father.
His short black hair is styled in a messy way, as if he’s run his fingers through it a few times. Or he’s had some woman’s hands tugging at the strands while he buried his face between her thighs as his sinful mouth devoured her. The thought has me squirming involuntarily.
“Can…” Clearing my throat, I try again. “Can I get you anything?” My meek voice makes me sound like a child or a mouse. Jesus, get a grip. His gaze travels with such slow precision from my feet, up my legs and torso, only stopping momentarily on my chest, and he drags his dark piercing stare to my sky-blue eyes. Every moment his eyes are on me, my skin tingles. It feels like a match has been struck and I’m about to burst into flames.
“A bottle of the Balvenie Scotch, fifty-year-old, and three tumblers. Bring it to The Lounge.” With that, he turns and walks away without so much as a glance behind him.
My eyes don’t want to look away. As if he’s the glue and I’m the paper. He must be the most devilishly striking man I’ve ever seen, besides Lucio. Turning to get the order, I grab three crystal glasses and place them on the tray, along with the whisky he’s requested.
My hands tremble and I fight to calm the need that’s coiled in my belly. Oh, the sinful things I’m sure he can do. That I want him to do. Calm your shit down, Raina.
In that moment, he reminds me of Lucio. How he commanded a room when he entered. How as soon as he opened his mouth, people would flee or come closer. And my heart aches. It thuds painfully, reminding me I’ve lost two men I love. My father, certainly dead. But the man who’s offered me a new lease on life has just disappeared.
The stranger is gone, but his presence lingers. Something about him seemed familiar. Like he knew me. My body trickles with confused emotions warring inside me and all he did was look at me.
Jesus, imagine if he touched me.
5
Franco
“Mr. Moretti, it’s good to see you. Please, have a seat.” Andrea Lombardi is an asshole, and it takes all of my restraint not to kill him right here and now. I know he has connections to who killed Lucio. His name came up a few times in our findings, so here I am, dealing with an asshole. This prissy piece of shit is one I’d rather do without, but I set my mind on vengeance.