Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
I don’t argue further. Al has his way of running things. It’s a top-down organization, and changing things would probably undermine his authority. It’s not for me to insist.
All I know is it’s not a job I ever want to take.
I sigh and lock the door after Al leaves the office then open the safe behind the wall and stack the money inside.
Chapter Five
Sophie
Date number two is a dream date as far as dates go. Fairytale perfect. Almost ridiculously so.
Joey had four designer brand dresses delivered in exactly my size, along with matching Jimmy Choo and Dolce & Gabanna heels and a couple Chanel bags. The courier who showed up with the haul told me they were all paid for, but if I wanted to exchange anything for size or style, I could do so at Mr. LaTorre’s expense.
Damn. Talk about impressive. I can’t figure out why he’s trying so hard. It doesn’t even make sense.
When he showed up, he brought flowers. Took me to a fancy dinner near Times Square before the show. And of course, the front-row tickets for the show were incredible.
Now, as we drive home, I’m wondering why I feel so comfortable with him. How this could be so easy.
I’m the type of person whose mind can go in circles about a situation until I drive myself nuts. That’s how I’ve been over this thing with Joey.
Part of me was excited about our date. Not just seeing Hamilton–which is always a guaranteed good time–but seeing Joey again. Putting on one of the designer dresses to impress him. My mind’s all revved up. And I’m in conflict with what I’m resisting.
I don’t want to fall for Joey. I really don’t. Seriously. I’m not going to get involved with a Made Man. I’ll put in my three dates and then be done with him.
To make sure that happens, I resolve not to have sex with him this time. I’ll just have to explain to Joey that I’m not interested in a relationship.
So I steer the conversation back to the reason I can’t–and won’t–ever consider him as a long-term thing.
“How old were you when you realized your dad was the don? Or that there was something different about your family?” I ask.
Joey shoots me a surprised look. “Huh. Interesting question. I don’t know. I think I always knew. Maybe Al drilled it into my head.”
“He’s a lot older than you, right?”
“Yeah. Fifteen years. We’re actually half-brothers. His mom died of breast cancer when he was four. My ma was his live-in nanny from Italy. You can see how that turned out.”
“That’s kinda hot.”
Joey’s eyes crinkle, and he slides a glance my way. “What about you?”
I turn and stare out the window. I’m purposely dredging up everything bad about the mafia. I want to remember why this won’t work. Why I’m never getting involved again.
“I’d heard some of the girls at St. Mary’s Academy say something about it. They called me a mafia princess–which of course, I wasn’t–and I didn’t even know what that meant. I thought the Family was just family. I mean, Marie was my aunt. I figured I was related to everyone.
“But one night I got up to pee, and I heard someone downstairs. I went down to the cellar. My dad was at the big sink, soaked in blood. The water was running, and the basin was full of bloody water.
“I thought he was hurt, you know? I gasped and asked what happened, and he barked at me to go back to bed.
“Of course, that just freaked me out more. I started crying, and he realized I was scared. He took off his stained shirt and showed me it wasn’t his blood. That’s when I got scared in a different way.”
I glance over at Joey to see if he understands. He reaches for my hand across the center console and squeezes it. For some reason, now that I’ve started the story, I want to remember the whole thing. Tell the whole thing.
“It’s funny, but I wasn’t upset that he’d committed a crime. That he’d hurt someone. Probably killed them. He was my dad. And kids are selfish, you know? All I was worried about was that he might get caught and taken away from us. So I tried to help him wash the blood out of his shirt. I wanted to protect him. Keep him out of trouble. Of course, he wouldn’t let me. He told me everything was fine. That he knew how to take care of things, but I shouldn’t tell my mom. He sent me off to bed.”
I try to swallow. “I had nightmares for years about him going to prison.” My eyes burn. “Is that funny? That I was more worried about my dad going to prison than about whether he was a murderer?” My voice chokes over my words. “And then he did go to prison. And my mom and I didn’t really forgive him for abandoning us before he died. So that sucked.”