Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I’m glad.
Keeping it on my lap, I sit on the edge of the bed and look around. This is Elizabeth Grigori’s room. Cristiano’s little sister. She was five when she was killed. She’d have been fifteen now. Same age as Noah. And her little friend, what was her name? Mara. She disappeared. Seems strange if they took someone that they’d take Mara and not the daughter of their enemy.
And after all this time, I wonder if Cristiano is still searching for her. It makes me a little sad to think of it.
But then the door opens, and I leap to my feet. No knock, but I’m not surprised.
Cristiano stands in the doorway taking up the whole of it. He looks around the room and I wonder if he’s been inside here or if he avoids it. If it brings too many memories because it’s still decorated for a five-year-old little girl who loved both princesses and toy cars.
He shifts his gaze to mine before it falls to the veil I’m hugging.
“Lenore cleaned it,” he says, and I get the feeling again that he’s not used to being around people. Having to talk to people. It’s not that he’s awkward. You’d have to give a fuck to be awkward. He’s just abrupt.
“She did a good job. It’s like new.”
He nods. Cristiano is a man of very few words.
“Come out of here. I can’t talk to you in here. I need to get some things anyway.”
I do as he says, wondering why he put me in there at all. I walk across the hall to his bedroom, bringing the veil with me because I don’t know what to do with it otherwise.
“What was my uncle doing here?”
“Nothing,” Cristiano says, disappearing into the closet.
“Not nothing. Is he your partner now? Your connection to the Cartel? Is his son-in-law running the show? Because Felix Pérez is as much a liar and an opportunist as Jacob.” I give a bitter laugh. “Féfé Pérez running the show.”
“Féfé?”
“I couldn’t say Felix when I was little and the nickname stuck. Noah calls him that too. Also, I don’t like him, and it pisses him off so...” I shrug a shoulder.
He walks out of the closet carrying a garment bag. Before I can ask what it is, he asks me if I’m ready to go.
“Shopping?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Do you want to wear that dress day in and day out?”
“No, but—”
“Besides, we need to get you a gown.”
“A gown? Why?”
“We’re going to a gala tonight.” He opens the bedroom door.
“A what?”
“It’s a children’s charity. I donated some money, and the gala should hopefully raise more.”
“You donated to a children’s charity?”
“Don’t look so shocked. Most of it lined the pocket of a politician we need on our side.”
“Ah, the angle.”
“Everyone has an angle. Even you, Little Kitten. Let’s go.”
I walk out. “I don’t have an angle.”
“No?” He falls into step beside me on the stairs.
“No.”
“What about getting your brother out of his cell? Isn’t that your angle?”
“That’s not an angle. An angle is some ulterior motive.”
“And you’re being nice to me because?”
I’m about to open my mouth to argue when one of his men meets us at the front door. “Chopper or boat, sir?” he asks.
“Boat. You’ll follow ours. Bring Alec.”
“Sir, we have—”
“Bring Alec.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cristiano takes his coat off the hook and realizes then I don’t have one. He puts his over my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to shrug it off. It smells like him. And it feels nice around my shoulders. Safe.
“It’ll be cold on the water.” He pushes it back on and we walk outside.
“Don’t you need one?”
“We’ll pick one up for you when we get to the shop then I can have mine back. And before you do anything stupid with it, it’s one of my favorite coats.”
“Got it. So, like I shouldn’t throw it overboard?” I ask as we walk out to where two speedboats are docked.
“You do and I’ll throw you in to get it.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Water’s cold this time of year.”
I roll my eyes.
He holds out his hand to help me on board.
In the distance I see a sailboat, too. It’s bigger than these. I look back at the house, at the island. “So, mafia business is going well? What makes the most profit? Trafficking drugs or people?”
“Get your ass on the boat, Scarlett.”
I take his hand only because I have to as the water’s a little choppy. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Can you swim?”
“Are you serious? If this thing—”
“Relax. I’m fucking with you.” He steps on board after pulling the ropes free that have been holding the boat to the dock. “And just so you know, I don’t deal in flesh trade. My family never did.”
“Oh.” I study him. “Really? What is that, like a code or something? Only drugs which by the way also hurt people.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about and I advise you to shut the fuck up.”