Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Until then...” His hands slid into the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my hips. “I’m going to enjoy my favorite breakfast.”
Gio sat on one side of me at the large dining table, Renzo on the other. Tommy and Luca were here, as well as Jackson, Annaliese, and Adamo.
Luca was quiet and tense, I guessed, because he was technically surrounded by the enemy. Tommy either didn’t notice that my brother was uncomfortable or didn’t care because he kept talking until finally, Luca engaged. If anyone could bring my brother into the fold, it was Tommy.
I could endure the awkwardness of this whole dinner situation if it meant I got to eat Gio’s spaghetti. He’d cooked it because he knew it was my favorite. Well, it was when he cooked it. The man was gifted.
Tommy was telling a story about his drunk Irish grandma, and I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months.
Right up until Luca spoke. “Have you found Sergio yet?”
Silence fell over the table, suspicion tainting the air. None of us knew if we could trust him yet, or if the question was a dig for information.
Gio cleared his throat, his hand sliding over my thigh. “We’re not talking about business tonight.” He turned to me, pulling an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and placing it on the table in front of me. “Happy birthday, piccola.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I mumbled, awkward at the prospect of him buying me anything. Like the brand new car wasn’t enough.
“I didn’t. Not really.” His lips quirked. “Just open it.”
I glanced at the blank envelope and picked it up, removing the single piece of paper from within. It was a letter addressed to me. I skimmed over the words, my eyes widening with shock and excitement. “You got me into the Academy of Art?”
“You said you wanted to get an art history degree…”
“Gio, I…” I didn’t even know what to say. I’d never really had a chance to dream or have aspirations beyond childish fantasies. When I’d married him, I thought I was giving up whatever silly ideas of freedom I’d had. I never imagined that he’d do something like this, gift me the very thing I’d always wanted—freedom. Choice. I crawled onto his lap and threw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.” I kissed him, and someone—Tommy or Jackson—wolf-whistled.
Gio smiled at me like he was the one who had just gotten a gift. “You’re welcome, amore mio.” His fingers threaded through my hair, and he kissed me again, making my pulse spike.
“I can beat that.”
I pulled away from Gio and turned to see Una striding into the dining room. Her boots clicked over the hardwoods as she approached Gio and me. Stopping beside us, she dumped a duffel bag onto the table so hard the cutlery rattled.
“Happy birthday, lisichka.” She winked and unzipped the bag with a flourish.
I didn’t know what I expected from Una, but I slapped my hand over my mouth at the sight of Sergio’s glazed eyes staring at me from his severed head. My stomach rolled, Gio’s spaghetti dangerously close to making a reappearance. It took a moment for the bile to settle back down my throat and the shock to wear off. She’d done it. She’d killed him.
“Sergio is dead,” I breathed. It almost felt anti-climatic, as though I expected to feel some monumental shift in the universe, but no. The Earth was still spinning; everything was the same. But a weight lifted from my shoulders, and a shackle I hadn’t even realized I still wore fell away.
“As promised.”
“Where did you find him?”
Her head tilted in a way that was distinctly predatory. “Does it matter?”
No, I didn’t suppose it did.
She re-zipped the bag and dumped it on the floor, kicking it to the side unceremoniously. Then she fell into the chair I’d vacated. “Please tell me you at least have cake.”
I tried not to smile. She was a killer. Undoubtedly the scariest person in this room, but I couldn’t help but like Una. And this truly was a gift, something I knew she wasn’t keen to do, but she had—for me.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Always with the dramatics. Happy birthday. Really?”
“Don’t be jealous you didn’t get to put him down.” She flipped off Jackson. “Could have done with you for the hacksaw, though.” She stretched her arm out. “I think I pulled a muscle trying to get through his spine.”
That was a disgusting thought that had my stomach rolling again.
“Well, if you’d asked…” Jackson huffed, folding his thick arms over his chest.
Tommy wrinkled his nose, glancing between the two of them. “You two are fucked up.”
Una smiled. “Don’t worry, Irish. You’re still my favorite.”
They were the most dysfunctional family I’d ever seen, but they were very much a family. They would protect each other and bathe themselves in blood to do so if needed.