Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
There’s a door ahead. I grab the handle, yank it open, and duck inside. I’m hit with quiet the second it closes behind me, and I stand there breathing hard and trying to calm myself down.
This was a terrible idea. Grandmother never should’ve sent me here, and I should’ve been strong enough to refuse. But I’ve never been able to tell that woman a damn thing, and she doesn’t care about anything beyond her own plans for the family, and so here I am, having a very minor panic attack at an orgy.
Not my finest moment.
“Normally, there’s a guard at the door,” a man says, sounding amused. “I’m going to have to fire Luca now. He’s probably off sampling the wares.”
I look up, shocked to the point of freezing. The room comes into focus. It’s an office, richly furnished, not quite modern but not antique either. Books on shelves, a comfortable leather couch, a bar cart in the corner, and a large executive desk.
A man watches me, leaning back in his chair, a slight smile on his face.
“Sorry,” I finally manage to say. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
I don’t turn around, though.
Because it’s him.
We’ve never met before right now, but I’ve seen a few dozen pictures of my future husband. Grandmother practically drilled me on this guy. I feel like I know him, even though he’s still a total stranger.
Adriano Marino. Age thirty-three, ten years my senior. Tan skin, athletic body, dark hair. Extremely handsome. Even better-looking in person, actually. A slight scar crosses his lips, puckering them, which somehow only makes him that much more attractive. He’s got an air of sin and danger to him, an aura I never could’ve known about without seeing him in person.
He’s bigger than I thought he’d be. Taller, more muscular. I can tell that man is practically bursting out of his tight dress shirt. If he stands, he’ll loom above me. I’m barely five-foot-four, while he’s well over six feet.
Beautiful and deadly. The son of the Marino Famiglia’s leader. The most eligible bachelor and deadliest man in all of Philadelphia.
“I take it the party’s in full swing,” he says, watching me with a careful expression. He’s not angry or amused, but something else. Wary and curious, maybe.
“Swing is probably the right word.”
A slight curve of his scarred lips. “Was that a sex pun?”
“Right, like swinger? Sorry, it’s not a good one.”
“What’s your name?”
I hesitate. Should I tell him the truth? Or make something up? But I’ve never been a very good liar, even though I’m related to Grandmother. I should’ve absorbed more evil just by osmosis, living in the same house as her, but I guess the Willing-Morris mansion is big enough that she hasn’t rubbed off on me completely yet.
Figure out what he likes, then use it against him.
“Lucy,” I say, apparently not quick enough to come up with something fake. But it’s a common name, right? It’ll be fine, probably. “You’re Adriano, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.” He tilts his head, considering. My heart quickens in my chest. I think he knows who I am, but I’m wearing the mask. There’s no way. The name probably didn’t help though. His eyes move down my body to the short black low-cut dress and the slit up my thigh. It leaves very little to the imagination. Also, my grandmother chose it. You’re going to a sex party, not a funeral; dress appropriately for the occasion. Have I taught you nothing, girl?
“What are you doing hiding in my office?”
“Needed a break.” Then my cheeks turn red when I realize how that sounds. “Not from the sex!” I hold up my blue wristband. “I haven’t been, you know, getting involved. It’s my first time, and all that downstairs, it’s just a lot.”
His lips press in amusement again. He keeps looking at me, studying, judging, weighing, and I feel like he’s trying to squeeze some truth from my appearance. I keep my back rigid and my hands clasped in front of me, adopting the posture my grandmother drilled into me as a young girl. Strong, poised, and proper. I wonder if Adriano will whack my knuckles with a belt if I screw it up just like Grandmother used to.
“It’s definitely a lot,” he agrees and stands up. I was right, the man is massive. He comes around the desk and walks over to the bar cart. “Want a drink?”
“Yes, please,” I say automatically, even though I’m seriously rethinking this whole situation. If he doesn’t know who I am yet, he’s going to figure it out eventually. And what will I do then? How can I even explain it?
Sorry, my grandmother sent me here to spy on you before we get married. I swear I’m not a depraved orgy addict looking for one last fucking thrill before walking down the aisle!