Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
I hope it burns. If he even cares.
7
GILLY
She’s being a brat. A huge fucking brat. My heartbeat booms in my ears, my gaze locked on the door she just flounced out of.
There’s no way she’s interested in being courted. She’s always wanted to go to college, not get trapped in some political marriage.
“What’s gotten into her?” Antonio sinks into his chair and rubs his temples. “She’s being even more nuts than usual.”
Butcher grunts. “Women.”
“She’s just trying to start something.” I crack my knuckles. It seems her spanking wasn’t enough. She needs more discipline. Good thing I’m here. I’ll get her back into line.
“She’s never wanted to get married. I don’t even know where to start. Suitors? I guess I could put out some feelers. There are plenty of men who’d–”
“Are you serious?” I whirl on him. I thought I was pissed before, but just the thought of Antonio entertaining her request is enough to make my blood turn volcanic.
He sighs and leans back. “She said she wants suitors.” An evil glint lights in his eyes. “So I’m going to give her what she wants. Plenty of men who want to marry into the Palermo family.”
“All of them twats.” Butcher smirks.
“Exactly.” Antonio nods. “She’ll take one look at them and realize she’s going down the wrong path. Maybe this is exactly what she needs to kick her ass into gear about applying to college. She wanted a gap year–I said fine. I’m going to say fine to this too. Let’s see how long it takes for her to realize she’s fucking up.”
“This is a bad idea.” I can barely keep my voice level. “Inviting the other families to send their young men into our home–this can cause trouble. Especially when they find out Carina didn’t choose any of them.”
Antonio shrugs. “Maybe.” His eyes focus on me. “But what if she finds a young man in the bunch she likes?” He watches me, his gaze unwavering.
I take a deep, calming breath. Even though I want to rage. Even though I want to tear through this fucking office and destroy every last scrap of furniture and plaster right down to the fucking studs.
I can feel Butcher’s eyes on me, too, like a fucking brand burning into my temple.
Antonio gives a curt nod. “Then it’s decided.” He’s taken my silence for assent–instead of for the white-hot fury it truly represents. “I’ll put the word out. Let’s plan dinner for this Saturday and let the families send whoever they want. She’ll have her pick.” He glances at my hands. “You all right?”
I glance down and realize I’ve fisted them so hard my knuckles have gone white. I don’t trust myself to speak, not when I feel a knot in my throat and fire in my gut. I can only nod.
“Good.” He leans forward and opens his laptop. “Let’s talk this afternoon about the Irish accounts. I need to get this set up.” He raises his gaze to me again. “I’d let you handle the details, but I know you’re elbow deep in Larone’s books. What a fucking mess he had going over there.”
Turning, I mechanically stride from the office. I hear the door close behind me, Butcher staying behind to talk to Antonio. I’m so on edge I think I might fucking levitate, my muscles tight as I walk to the kitchen and look inside.
Carina, Angelica, and Bianca are sitting at the kitchen table talking as Carina eats a late breakfast.
“Carina.” I can’t keep the bite out of my voice.
She looks up, a smug expression on her beautiful face. “Yeah, what?”
“I need a word.” I need a whole fucking lot more than that.
“Okay, have a word.” She waves her fork around the table.
“Privately.” I move toward her, always drawn to wherever she is.
Bianca and Angelica exchange a look then rise.
“Hey, you can stay.” Carina’s voice contains a slight hint of worry, and when she looks up at me, the smugness is still there but also a sliver of concern. As if she’s happy that she’s pushed me but wondering if she perhaps went too far.
Yes, you fucking did, brat. I keep my gaze on her as Angelica and Bianca scurry from the kitchen, throwing hurried “See you laters” over their shoulders.
“What the fuck was that?” I lean over the table, pinning her with my stare.
She puts her fork on her plate and dabs her mouth with her napkin. “In civilized society, this is usually called ‘breakfast.’”
I broke my arm when I was a kid. Fell out of a tree that I had climbed in haste to escape a couple of bullies. Once the bullies gave up, I tried to make my way back down. That’s when I missed a foothold and fell. When I hit the ground, I felt my arm snap. It was a quick, sharp feeling. And it had a sound. That same snap–the feeling, the sound, the sharpness, all of it–echoes in my mind as I snap again.