Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
A dark sky, freezing rain, and winds all point to an equally dark meeting with Portello.
A truce was called, by them, to give our family time to grieve. But also, on a more practical level, he wants to see how we’ll react.
And true to tradition, there’s always a little more talking before any more fighting.
I need to know why, but I also need to know where we can find our family and friends.
Give them the respectful peace they deserve.
At a glance, before I even cross the street to the restaurant, I can see how different it is already.
The colorful awnings have been removed, along with the outdoor dining areas. And from what I can see, the interior is stripped back to nothing.
Probably still cleaning up the mess….
A mess that never even reached the police scanners.
We never heard anything until it was too late.
It looks like Portello has the whole neighborhood on the take already, primed to make his next moves.
But as I get closer, something else catches my eyes. And in a single moment, all the worries and pain of last night simply vanish.
I can only see her from behind, but my god. What a behind.
A car honks as I step out in front of it, the driver screeching to a stop inches from me.
An older-looking woman winds down her window to apologize once she sees where I’m headed. Her intense stare seems to be trying to tell me something, though.
And despite already being distracted, I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.
But the mystery girl across the street is front and center in my mind. She’s having an effect on my already stiffening and bulging hardness inside my jeans.
It feels like my luck’s changed in a second, and as if on cue, the rain stops.
Hell, the sun even beams out from behind the gray skies and shines a light right down on the old restaurant.
Now, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
But she’s lighting up my world more than the sun, and I hurry to look at her closer.
Even seeing her sitting opposite Don Portello doesn’t faze me.
He looks older and frail, even weaker than Papa.
But who is she?
I know Portello has a daughter, but nobody’s seen her for years. He keeps her locked up safe.
He’s deathly afraid rival families, or gangs will snatch her and use her for ransom or worse.
Her long blond hair trails down her back, still damp from the rain she’s just been out in, and I’m guessing she’s not Portello’s daughter.
Like me, she has an appointment, and when I reach the door, it takes a moment for the men guarding it to recognize me and open up to let me pass inside.
Before I can get a closer look at her, I see Portello take something from her hand, some paper that he balls up and sets beside him.
Maybe he’s already getting messages of his own….
And fuck me if I can’t even remember what I’m here for now. I’ve seen the perfect girl from behind, which I need more than anything to see more of.
Right now.
But I also have to keep up appearances. I have to be stone-faced.
I’m Rocco, the rock with a face like stone.
It’s what I do best apart from being huge and scary looking.
Opening my jacket a little, it’s clear I’m unarmed. But every hand in the place is in a pocket, ready to start shooting if I don’t play nice.
And it’s now she gets up.
It has to be now of all moments when I have to keep my face stoney.
The one time I’d like to smile at someone I can just tell is special. Give her the only thing I can right now, a smile.
But I can’t.
I have to keep alert, my eyes, and ears – all my senses on high alert.
An unarmed Martinelli is in a room full of Portello’s, who are armed to the teeth. Definitely not a good situation.
But who is she, and why is she here?
The tension in the air is starting to match the strain I feel still growing in the front of my jeans.
But I can’t take it.
I can’t just stand here, not look at her and watch her walk away when it’s too late.
Our eyes meet. Or should I say, our eyes lock.
Like keys to a safe, they click, revealing a flood of feelings, all of them gold.
Fuck. She’s perfect.
Her crystal clear blue eyes widen, and her rounded cheeks flush.
Her button nose has a pair of glasses sliding a little, fogging up by the second, and I can tell she’s fighting the urge to push them back up.
Her flowing blond hair has dried some but has a frizz to it, and once it registers she’s been crying, I feel my awe and amazement turn into something else.
Like I want her out of this place, away from these people.