Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“We have a deal. I’ll tell Amara tomorrow that she’s betrothed to your brother.”
“You can tell your daughter that her safety and happiness will be of utmost importance to Nikolai.”
My father snorted, and I curled my hands tightly into my nightshirt. The sound was dismissive, as if he didn’t care. And his next words affirmed that.
“Non mi interessa. Una volta che Amara sarà sposata, suo marito potrà fare quello che vuole con lei.” I don’t care about that. Once Amara is married off, her husband can do what he wants with her.
I hated my father. He was an evil, cruel man. He only loved himself and the Family. The Cosa Nostra.
I doubted he even had any affection for Gio, our oldest brother. He kept Gio close because my brother would take our father's place one day.
And hearing my father talk about how he didn’t care what Amara’s arranged husband did to her after they were married made me sick to my stomach.
I wondered if my father said that in Italian so Dmitry wouldn't understand. Although I didn’t know why he cared what anyone thought. Everyone had to know what an awful person Marco Bianchi was.
That’s why they were so afraid of him, why they did what he said, because they were fearful of the repercussions of going against the capo.
I knew Amara and Gio wanted to protect me, but I had a fiery streak, talking back to our father when I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I’d had my face slapped so many times, and had borne more bruises than I could count throughout my life.
But there was no way I could just wait until he married me off. And I knew he would in three years. When I turned eighteen.
I’d then be the prime age for him to give me away to one of his gross, far-too-old mafia friends. I’d be used, abused, and treated as a vessel, just to carry children or be a pretty trophy on his arm.
That was, unless I changed my destiny. I’d thought about running away so many times, just escaping and moving somewhere far away where no one could find me. But then I thought of my mother and how weak she was. I thought about Amara and how I would hate to leave her alone to deal with the fallout of it all. And then there was Gio.
He would be so worried. He would probably search for me day and night, and when he couldn’t find me, he’d blame himself.
“Fine. He can have her. But… Se mi fotti, Dmitry, ti taglio le palle.” If you fuck me over, Dmitry, I’ll cut your balls off.
There was a harsh laugh, one full of amusement, but something dark was laced within the sound.
“Vai piano stronzo, i russi stanno estendendo la loro generosità verso di te con questa offerta.” Tread lightly, asshole. The Russians are extending their generosity toward you with this offer.
I felt my eyes widen at Dmitry speaking in Italian, his words thick with a Russian accent.
My father cleared his throat, obviously not expecting the other man to know what he’d said. A smile spread across my face. I didn’t know who this Russian was aside from the name my father called him, but I liked him more by the second.
But then I hated that thought and quashed it. They were pawning off my older sister. Screw both of them. All of them.
Before either man could say anything, there was a knock and I froze. For a moment I thought I'd been caught but then realized it came from my father’s office.
I could hear one of my father’s men murmuring softly in Italian. I couldn’t pick up what he was saying aside from something about a phone call.
“Excuse me, Dmitry. I have to take this,” my father said. “Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to another drink.”
Although my father might’ve seemed hospitable, his tone was clipped and sharp. Cold.
It was the tone he used toward all of his children.
My father’s office door opened and closed, and a second later I heard the other man murmur in Russian under his breath. The words were gruff and sharp, and I was pretty sure there was nothing pleasant about them. There was the clink-clink of glass hitting glass, then the sound of liquid being poured.
I waited a few seconds before I slowly slipped out the patio doors and crept toward my father’s office. I kept to the stone wall, my palms flat on the rock. It felt like my heart was in my throat as I moved slowly, trying to be stealthy.
I didn’t know why I was doing this. It was so reckless, but I wanted to put a face to the deep Russian voice who’d all but put my father in his place. I’d seen no one do that, and it gave me this rush.