Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I can’t help but blush at the idea of shaking my ass for strangers or even for people I know. “So what is it?”
“First, I need you to remember how much you need this money. And I hope you don’t freak out over what I’m about to say.” She leans in a little closer, her eyes darting around like she wants to make sure nobody is standing too close to us. “I have a way you could make all the money you need and then some in one night.”
I’m starting to get the feeling this isn’t a completely legal sort of job. And now I have to wonder exactly where my friend gets all her money. Then I remember beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s not up to me to judge anybody.
Even though I’ve walked the straight and narrow my entire life, I’m willing to break that habit if it means being able to pay for school and having a little money left over. It’s been so long since I’ve had any money for more than the basics.
I ignore the way my hands shake and the thudding of my heart against my ribs. I should turn around, go back to my apartment, and cry my sorrows into a book, but even I know that wouldn’t solve my problems. I’m desperate, and that means I’m willing to do anything.
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” I decide before she even has a chance to describe the job. “Just give me the details, and I’ll be there.”
She smirks like she’s just solved all my problems, and I cringe because all I can do is hope I don’t end up regretting this or—worse—in jail.
2
ENZO
The mansion I’ve spent the past twenty-five years of my life in is still—silent. And it doesn’t help that a storm is brewing on the other side of these walls. No light comes in from the large windows on all sides of the house. The dark clouds can be seen from all angles, and that can only mean something is about to go down.
Bad things happen when nature is upset. Violent rains usually bring darkness and mayhem, at least in my world. It rained the day my grandfather found me, left with a gunshot wound to the chest at the edge of my family’s property line. My only friend in life was a stark black Great Dane I called Ghost, and the skies roared and lit up with lightning that night too.
Bracing myself, I walk the halls, my soles slapping against the marbled floors. All the staff has retreated to their quarters for the evening, and the only sound to be heard comes from my grandfather’s study at the end of the hall. His voice carries through the hall, and I can tell by his tone that he’s angry.
When I breach the threshold, he’s sitting behind his oversized desk with men on either side of him. He’s been threatened more times than I can count, so he’s always kept a guard or two with him. The only other person in the room, aside from my grandfather and his men, is Prince, my mother’s bastard nephew. We’re close in age, and if I’m being honest, not really that close. But he’s family, and as a De Luca, that means everything. Especially when my nonno—my grandfather—lost both of his children, leaving behind Prince and myself. So despite our childhood rivalry or the fact we carry different names, we make nice where Grandfather is concerned and watch our backs.
“Unacceptable,” Grandfather barks into the phone. “Set up a time—now.” He ends the call and slams the device down on the desk. “Imbecille di merda.” Fucking moron.
He breaks into a coughing fit as he snatches open his drawer and removes a lighter and cigar from the engraved cherrywood box. I eye the case. It was a gift from my mother before she ran off with my father and got herself killed. It’s the only thing my grandfather kept of hers, and he guards the damn thing with his life.
A parent should never have favorites, but she was his, just like my brother, Christian, was my father’s. Naturally, the love Grandfather had for his daughter spilled onto me—so I guess you can say I’m the current favorite.
When Grandfather stares up at me, his brows knitted together with disappointment, I don’t know if it’s directed at me or whoever was on the other end of the line. Prince notices and turns to follow our grandfather’s gaze. A smirk leaves him the moment his eyes land on the sling around my shoulder.
Prince huffs around a laugh, scratching his temple, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Who kicked your ass?” He juts his chin at my wound.
“A Glock 43X.” I snort and grip my elbow to help elevate some of the pressure from the injury. A bout of rage courses through me, thinking about the fact that Christian got the jump on me.