Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“I’ll do more than just scar you, piccola.” Piccola. Little one. There was something inherently disturbing about the whispered endearment mixed with a threat. “You are a means to an end. So, I suggest you behave like a good little mafia princess.” He shoved away from me, and I sucked in my first full breath since I’d stepped in here.
If he thought threats would make me cower, he was sadly mistaken. I’d been threatened my whole life, and my father and uncle hadn’t broken me yet. Though I could admit that Giovanni was far more terrifying.
He pressed a button on the wall panel, and the doors glided shut. I was now locked in a metal box with a man who would not hesitate to kill me. A man I was sold to and had run from. I assumed he wouldn’t want a bride who had dishonored him. That he would either kill me or hand me back to my family. But he had saved me from my father’s capo, so what did that mean? Were those elevator doors about to open and reveal my uncle, maybe even Matteo Romano, ready to take ownership of his new toy? Oh, God. My breaths came faster, and I thought I might throw up.
The elevator eventually stopped moving, and if he noticed me hurrying to get out of that confined space with him, he didn’t say anything. We were in a hallway with marble flooring and soft music drifting through speakers. No sign of my uncle or Matteo. Yet. I looked around for an exit, willing to chance being shot again at this point. There was only a single door at the end of the corridor. Giovanni strode down the hallway and opened it, and for a moment, I was stunned. Beyond was an apartment that looked like it belonged in an edition of Good Housekeeping. The penthouse was huge, the floor-to-ceiling glass exterior offering uninterrupted views of New York. I wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with wealth, but this was next level. Snapping out of my daze, I took a step back. A prison was still a prison, no matter how pretty.
His eyes narrowed like he expected me to try to run, like he wanted me to, because like any predator, he’d enjoy the chase. I could see the kitchen from here, the knife block like a glowing beacon on the counter. He was already on guard, and I’d need him to drop it a little. So, I forced myself to take a calming breath and walk inside as though I wasn’t planning to ram a blade into his cold heart.
The front door closed behind me, a loud beep signaling the lock engaging. I was trapped, caught, and hopeless.
Giovanni ducked down a corridor to the right of the front door. “Come.”
I waited for him to take a few steps away from me before I made a break for it, half running, half stumbling on my injured leg. It wasn’t far, and yet the distance across the huge penthouse felt colossal when I knew he was at my back. My fingers hooked one of the knives before my head was snatched back by my hair. Pain ripped over my already abused scalp, and I hissed out a breath, fighting and slashing wildly as he trapped me between his body and the counter. Gripping my wrist, he squeezed until my fingers released, the blade clattering to the marble.
“That was stupid.”
I panted out heavy breaths, waiting. For him to press a gun to my head, or perhaps just snap my neck.
He moved back enough to spin me around before gripping my hair once more and wrenching my head back so far that it was all I could do not to buckle under his hold. “What were you going to do, kill me?” A smirk played over his full lips as though the idea of me hurting him was amusing
“If that’s what it takes to be free of you,” I spat through gritted teeth, refusing to buckle or break for this man or any other. Because that was what they wanted.
“Keep trying, piccola.” His eyes flashed with something feral, as though the thought excited some primal part of him. “But until you succeed, you are mine. Run again, and I will hunt you. Fight…” His grip tightened, and I winced as pain seemed to reverberate around my entire skull, a slow trickle of warm liquid running down my temple. “Now come.” He released me and simply walked back to that hallway.
Wait. What?
He just called me his, threatened to hunt me…. He still intended to marry me. And that might have been scarier than the prospect of going back to Chicago. Because what kind of man kept a woman he knew was unwilling? A man who was no better than Matteo Romano. A monster.