Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
From a young age, he instilled in me the traits necessary to rule. He taught me everything he knew about discipline, grit, brutality, and survival. I was ten years old the first time he killed a man in front of me. On my fourteenth birthday, it was my turn to pull the trigger.
Because I knew it would make him proud, I didn’t hesitate. And I learned something about myself that day. I was born for this life—not only because of the blood that runs through my veins, but because I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over what I’d done. That night, I celebrated my birthday with my family as if it were any other day.
There have been moments in my life when I’ve questioned if there’s a line I won’t cross. Perhaps it would have been easier for me if there weren’t. But as I sat in a prison cell with nothing but the thought of my revenge to keep me warm, I realized, to my detriment, there is a line for me—and her name is Abella.
As I found myself imagining all the ways I could kill Matteo, there was always one glaring weakness in the plan. For all my resolve, I couldn’t even consider killing her, too.
Even when the betrayal was raw, instead of fantasizing about her death, I fantasized about fucking her until death—as punishment. Because time, distance, and other women haven’t changed one unalterable truth.
It's always been her.
I decided long ago that I’m the only one who can have her, and now that I do, it changes everything. Tonight, she’ll feel the full weight of what that means.
When I reach our suite, I find the door open and Abella standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Her gaze is fixed on the forest outside, and she hasn’t heard my approach. I’m torn between chastising her for not being aware of her surroundings and wondering what she’s thinking about right now.
This has always been my space, so she’s familiar with it. After our engagement, I had her choose everything she wanted to make it more comfortable. It’s still as she left it—charcoal walls, obsidian-stained floors, and recessed lighting. Consistent with the Pacific Northwest, it’s dark and moody at night, and during the day, the light filters through the trees, softening everything.
It's a perfect representation of the island, or perhaps even me. I’ve often wondered if that’s what she envisioned when she made these choices. She once told me our world thrived in darkness, but that didn’t mean we shouldn’t let in the light.
I approach her silently from behind, startling her when I whisper in her ear.
“You really should be more careful. You never know when a threat might be lurking about.”
She glances up at me, making light of my remark. “Like you?”
“Not just me,” I warn her. “There will always be men stupid enough to think they could take you from me. Don’t make it easier for them.”
“We’re in your house, behind a locked gate, with an army of guards,” she argues.
“Exactly where it happened the first time,” I remind her.
She goes rigid, wisely choosing not to respond.
“Change into something you don’t mind getting dirty.” I step back, sweeping my gaze over her. “We have somewhere to be.”
30
ABELLA
My family home appears on the horizon, and sunlight dances across the water behind it. Angelo sits beside me, silent, while my thoughts are distant and weightless.
I knew it was only a matter of time before he would address this situation. He never lets a slight go unpunished, and in the Cosa Nostra, vengeance is a romantic gesture. Though, in Angelo’s case, it’s more likely he just wants to send a message.
People would talk if he did nothing, and he’s not known for being merciful.
If it had been Matteo standing at the end of the aisle that day, my father would have made it out unscathed. But it wasn’t, and he hasn’t.
Angelo doesn’t offer me assurances or false platitudes when he reaches over and strokes my face.
“Per te, cara.”
For you.
I know what he’s about to do, and maybe I should feel something, but I’m just numb. Maurizio Moretti never held an ounce of love for my mother or us girls. To him, we were little more than commodities or nuisances. As I sit here, I can’t recall one fleeting moment in time where I ever felt happy or like I could even breathe freely in his presence. He’s been the crushing weight on my chest for as long as I can remember. And because he hurt me, Angelo will dole out mob-style justice to avenge me.
He’d do the same to any other man who caused me pain.
From childhood, he’s been my protector and my sanctuary. He saw me, listened to me, and never asked me to be something different than what I am. I won’t ask him to either—particularly for someone who wouldn’t throw me a lifeline if I were drowning.