Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Cici?” Her eyes bounce between mine as panic takes over. “I thought you were okay with this.”
“I was,” I lie, nodding. Then I switch it to a shake. “I have to go.”
“All right. I’ll tell Salvator that you got your period. Text me an update later tonight, okay?”
Ignoring the concern in her voice, I nod and then push past her. I don’t have time to indulge her worry that not all women will sell their souls to the devil for money, and sometimes, the men who can afford to buy sex are usually the most villainous. That’s on her karma ledger, not mine.
Furthermore, if that’s all I wanted for my life, I’d still be living under my mother’s roof.
Outside, the cool air slaps me back to reality. Several regulars murmur my name in disbelief when they see me. They stare, shocked the entertainment came to them instead of the other way around.
Two bodyguards, who are pretending the floors inside are packed to the rafters, hold back a dozen patrons from the main entrance. With an arrogant grunt, they deny a man entry after a brief interrogation and checking his license.
A new kind of worry churns in my stomach when one bouncer turns his eyes my way. He has the same dark eyes as Dante, but he’s not close to his height and weight.
“Lucia?” he says, disbelief in his tone.
As he murmurs something into the cuff of his immaculate suit, I signal to the first taxi I see and then slide inside.
My heavy breaths fog the window when I tell the driver to go.
“Where?” he asks.
“Anywhere. Just go!”
As he drives away from the curb, the club doors suddenly open, and Dante stumbles out. While scanning the street, panic evident on his face, he shields his groin with the thick arm of a wooden chair and both hands.
Yes, he needs more than one hand, even when soft.
“Should I stop?” the driver asks, watching Dante approach the cab in the rearview mirror.
He hasn’t spotted me. He just somehow sensed where I went.
My shoulders sink as low as my tone when I say, “No. Keep going.”
I don’t know why I feel ashamed. This is the first time in ages that I’m not running because I’m cornered.
I’m running because it’s the right thing to do.
Chapter 7
Dante
Matteo’s irritating laughter echoes through the empty apartment Lucia calls home. If you can even call this a home. It has four walls, a mattress on the floor, and a kitchen that’s never held more than a cup of coffee and a single plate.
She lives here, sleeps here, and breathes in this air, yet there isn’t a single spark of her personality in the dimly lit studio apartment.
A pang of regret slices through my chest.
I hate seeing how she lives. Lucia, the woman with so much fire in her eyes that she destroyed my emotional armor with one sultry swing of her hips, has reduced herself to a bare-bones existence.
Her mattress is on the floor, for fuck’s sake. It’s wrong. It’s beneath her. And the worst part—the part that makes that ugly thing inside me coil tighter—is knowing she chose this.
During negotiations to purchase Pepenero Privè, I reviewed staff earnings. Before I made staff turn away any customer who wanted to see Cici, Lucia was the club’s highest-paid dancer. Her wage alone, minus tips, should have her living in a luxury penthouse with views for miles, so why does she choose to live a disposable life?
She deserves better.
How can she not see that she deserves safety, comfort, and more than four walls behind a lock that was kicked in with one blow?
The ease of access to her space makes me feel primal and possessive. She should have more. I could give her more. But instead, she ran.
That memory burns hotter than I care to admit.
It isn’t solely anger singeing through my veins. It isn’t even frustration. It’s the sickening realization she’s surviving, not living.
And she’s doing it alone.
She was so fucking scared she couldn’t trust me to stay when I accidentally used the name I got from her dental records. That’s what curls my hands into fists. Not the emptiness of the apartment, but the emptiness she must feel living in it.
Matteo wheezes again, doubling over as he points at the hem of my trousers, which are a good four inches above my ankles.
“Shut the fuck up, Matteo.” I tug at my pants, praying they’ll magically stretch. “It isn’t my fault.”
“It absolutely is,” Nico says, because someone has to be the voice of reason in this circus. “You let her take your pants.”
“I didn’t let her,” I snap. “She stole them.”
Matteo loses it again. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the dusty floor, wiping tears from his eyes. “She took them because she thought it would slow you down. And look at you. She was right.”