Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Angelo seems to recognize my acceptance as he leans in and brushes his lips against my temple. It’s not the kiss I wanted, but it’s significant because he’s breaking his rule for me.
A moment later, he helps me out of the car, and on our way to the house, Michele emerges with Valentina in tow. He’s carrying some of her bags, so it’s a safe assumption she’ll be moving to the Vitale estate too.
We all converge on the sidewalk, and Val leans in and gives me a hug.
“Never forget you exist because I let you,” she whispers in my ear.
I squeeze her tighter. With one simple sentence my father has uttered countless times, she’s reminding me who he is. Who he’s always been.
“You’re as weak and worthless as your mother was,” I croak.
When we release each other, I see the same numbness reflected in her eyes. We’ve been so disconnected since our mom’s death—learning to hide our grief and every other human emotion. Our father has left his mark on us both in different ways. He hated me for my resemblance to my mother, and that disgust manifested in physical violence. But Val was simply useless to him because she was another disappointment—being a daughter, rather than a son. With her, he was cold, mocking, and verbally abusive.
Francesca was the one daughter he found useful simply because she would do anything he asked without hesitation. And even though she’s been a brat most of my life, I can’t help but think how much he messed her up, too. The worst part is she doesn’t even realize it.
Briefly, I wonder where her husband will dump her on weekends now that our father won’t be here. I guess he’ll have to figure out another arrangement.
“So I guess I’ll see you at the villa?” Val asks.
I nod. “Where are you staying?”
“She’ll be in Mariella’s wing,” Michele answers.
That brings me some relief. I know Mariella will look after her.
After we say our goodbyes, Michele escorts her to another SUV while Angelo leads me to the front door. When it swings open, I’m not surprised to see Romeo standing on the other side. Over the years, I’ve heard whisperings about his role in the Cosa Nostra. He keeps his activities confined to the woodshed—one place on the island I never want to see. I suspect he’s also been providing accommodations for my father until our return.
Angelo settles his palm on my lower back and directs me to the dining room, where we find my father. He’s bound to his chair at the head of the table, his face swollen and battered with bruises in various stages of healing. His hands are strapped to the surface in front of him, duct tape wound tightly around his wrists and stretched across the wood.
“Abella!” he growls when he sees me. “Untie me now!”
Years of conditioning trigger my survival instincts when I hear the rage in his voice. I almost step forward on autopilot, but Angelo stops me.
“You don’t take direction from him anymore, cara.” He tucks me against his side, shielding me with his body. “Never again.”
He gives me a moment to calm my racing heart, as if he knows how much I need his strength right now. His eyes are dark and full of sorrow as they search my face, and I can see the questions there. He wants to know why I never told him.
A conversation for later.
Once my pulse evens out, he leads me to the opposite end of the dining table and directs me to sit. Briefly, I steal a glance at my father’s mottled face before I turn my attention to Angelo. He walks around the table and stands behind my father.
Spread across the wood are an array of tools, and beside them is a folder. Angelo opens it and sets a piece of paper in front of my father, giving him a minute to take it in.
I don’t know what’s on that paper, but I know my father well enough to see he’s nervous.
“What else was Matteo paying you for?” Angelo asks.
Confusion creases my brow as I glance between them.
“It was for services rendered,” my father spits.
“You want to try again?” Angelo removes another piece of paper and sets it in front of him.
My father’s lips press into a thin line, and he doesn’t answer. Angelo grabs a long nail and a hammer from the pile of tools. When he presses the tip of the nail into the top of my father’s hand, he starts to fight, trying and failing to yank free. In one swift and brutal motion, Angelo drives the nail through my father’s hand and into the table.
“Fuuuck,” my father cries out. “You sadistic son of a bitch! We could have avoided all this if you had just paid for her yourself.”