Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Bring me one of those, will you?” He poses it as a question, but it’s not.
Grabbing the bottle and an extra glass, I nod toward Edward, dismissing the man who’s been at my father’s side for the last two decades.
For people of our status, protection and loyal men are paramount—and that doesn’t end when we close our door at night.
This place is teeming with staff and men who work for us. We made a lot of those men wealthy, and in return, they’d kill or die for us.
Edward’s large frame casts a shadow creeping across the wall as he leaves, softly closing the door behind him.
He’s a beast of a man, tall, with a nasty scar that slashes through his right eye. He looks like a storybook villain.
“I like it in here.” My father offers a rare smile. “Your mother liked the view out that window.” He lifts a finger, breathing heavy from the exertion, pointing to the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the gardens.
Illness for a man like my father is a worse sentence than death. He refuses to leave the house, and no visitors are permitted to his wing of the house.
When he finally does leave this place, it will be in a box. His reputation is brutality and power. He’d rather take a bullet than let his rivals see him weak.
“It reminds me of her too,” I say, chinking my glass gently with his. She used to listen to classical music while watching the many young gardeners, but I keep that information to myself.
“Your brother…” he begins, but his words are taken over as he coughs and splutters. He drops his glass to the floor, the liquid seeping over the rug.
I remain quiet until he gets himself under control, then without acknowledging the dropped glass, slip my glass into his hand. “Your brother is getting out of control. If you don’t rein him in, he will lose himself.”
“I’ll deal with him,” I state.
Antonio being a pain in all our asses is nothing new.
“You need to marry, Luca. You’re my legacy.” He pauses, his hand going to his chest as it rattles with his labored breathing.
Hovering between life and death has made him almost frantic about adding to our family name.
He wants grandsons, but that’s not the only reason.
He built our kingdom on corruption and blood money—drugs, trafficking, cybercrime—putting our eggs into more baskets over time.
I began building legitimate businesses, collecting on favors, investments, and fear. I helped grow our empire to heights he never imagined, opening legitimate businesses in mother’s name.
If the feds ever get one of us, those business can’t be touched. They’re squeaky fucking clean.
“You don’t have to love her, Luca. Just marry and breed Leto sons.” He nods his head like it’s a reasonable request.
“Did you love mother?” I find myself needing to know. It’s a question I once wouldn’t have dared asked him, but now…
“She was a special woman—strong, loyal. She gave me sons. Love wasn’t important.” He tips his glass to his lips as I swig from the bottle. “But I did, in my own way. I still do.”
His honesty brings me relief I didn’t realize I needed.
I wanted mother to be loved, to have known he loved her.
Marriage for men like us is usually a business transaction—an agreement that benefits both partners. I always avoided it until now.
Maybe it’s time to re-think that.
Chapter Sixteen
Alyssa
If your body isn’t sore, you’re not working hard enough.
I repeat the mantra in my head as I move across the floor with grace and accuracy despite the blisters on my toes.
I’ve only been training a couple weeks and have already worn through three pairs of pointes. Breaking in a new pair is hellish.
“Lift up as you descend—point, point, point. I won’t tolerate lazy movements,” our choreographer, Michael, snaps.
It’s a lot harder here than I anticipated.
I’m exhausted every second of the day.
“Feel the rhythm of the music—become it.” He waves his hand around like a conductor. “Chin up, extend the knee. Janet!” he bites out. “I’ve seen cleaner pirouettes from a fourth grader. You’re sloppy. Again—again.”
The student’s name is actually Jewel. I’m not sure if getting her name wrong was meant to further humiliate her or he just forgot her real name. Either way, it brings a smirk to my lips.
She didn’t need a scholarship and made sure we all knew it. I despise the stuck-up bitch and will her to fall on her stupid pretty face as she begins cleaner pirouettes.
She’s so thin, her movements look fragile. A starving little mouse surrounded by hungry cats waiting to take a bite.
I push through the throbbing sting, allowing the lingering memories of Mr. Leto to distract me.
I imagine him looming like a dark, delicious shadow over me, commanding my body. Pathetic, but I can’t help it. My body responds to his in a way I’ve never experienced before.