Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
"Tell me where he is, or I'm taking you in his place," I whisper, already knowing she isn't going to tell me where Diego is…already knowing I'm not really giving her a choice at all. As we've already established, there aren't any lines I won't cross if it gets me what I want. Her.
"Go to hell," she whispers.
I hold her gaze for a long, silent moment before lifting my head. "Mattia, pack her things," I say. "She's coming home with me."
"I'll scream."
"Do it then," I say, one corner of my lip lifting in an amused smile. "Scream." I step closer, pressing our bodies together in one long line. The top of her head fits perfectly beneath my chin. I tilt my head, putting my mouth next to her ear. "See how much blood I'll spill to keep you, Amalia."
She gasps quietly.
"Eres mío ahora." You're mine now. I say it in Spanish instead of Italian to make sure she understands.
"Your prisoner," she spits, pushing away from me with her hands on my chest. Flames scorch me when her eyes meet mine. "Fine. I'll go with you. But hell will freeze over before I tell you anything about Diego."
She means it, and I have no intentions of making her eat her words. As soon as he finds out I have her, he'll come looking for her. He'll tell me everything I want to know by himself. If he thinks he's taking her from me though, he's sadly mistaken.
Amalia Santiago may think I'm the devil…but she's about to become my queen.
Chapter Two
Amalia
My whole life, I've heard stories of Rafael, Luca, and Gabriel Valentino. It's impossible to live in this city and not hear whispers of the three wicked brothers who rule it from the shadows…or of the fourth brother, the twin who walked away long ago. One twin, Rafael, is a mob boss. The other, Nico, is an astrophysicist, a professor at Northwestern. I've never met any of them, yet their lives intersect mine in ways none of us can undo.
Because of my father, they lost their mother. Because of theirs, I grew up an orphan. Rafael doesn't know this, of course. No one except Diego knows. It's fitting, I suppose, that he's the reason I'm now Rafael's prisoner when I'm part of the reason Diego is in this mess to begin with. His vendetta against the Valentino family began when his real father disappeared when he was fifteen. It only grew when he and Alvise Butera found me in a group home a few years later.
I don't blame Rafael for what his father did to mine. I'm not even sure I blame his father. My father fired the first bullet in that war. He murdered an innocent woman in cold blood. It's hard to grieve for someone capable of doing that. It's hard to grieve for someone I don't even remember. I was only two when he and my mom died.
The system swallowed me up, stripping me of any memories I had. By the time Alvise found me eight years later, I knew nothing but my name. Not everyone had forgotten the long lost principessa though. Lorenzo Valentino hadn't forgotten. Neither had Alvise. He took me in, protected me so Lorenzo would never find me. Everything I knew vanished overnight. He changed my name, taught me Spanish, hid me away in gang territory.
Diego blames the Valentinos for stripping me of my identity and my birthright. He hates them for it. He won't rest until their empire is in ashes. And I've let him drag me into the middle of his crusade.
To save his life, I'm not sure I have another choice.
He's the only family I have left since Alvise died.
But I think I've officially lost my mind. Because I just let Rafael Valentino take me prisoner.
I glare at him across the SUV, wishing my elderly Haitian neighbor had taught me some of the Hoodoo she swears by. I wouldn't mind speaking a few curses into existence right about now. I've never seen any of the Valentino brothers in person until now. Rafael's picture has been splashed across every news station and magazine in the city, but nothing prepared me for the reality of meeting him. I thought I'd be afraid…I'm not. I thought he'd look like a criminal…he doesn't. He's a dark prince. And an overgrown bully.
There's something arresting about him. A fire burning deep in the pits of his chocolate eyes. Everything about him is still. Cold. Austere. He's every inch the king, imposing and steely. From the top of his dark head to the tips of his shiny shoes, he's dark—black hair, black eyes, olive skin, black suit, crisp white button down beneath. I don't think there's darkness in him. I think he was made from darkness.
But the fire burning in his eyes makes me want to creep a little bit closer. There's something there, some emotion that doesn't make sense to me. It's…soft. But what does a man like him know about softness?