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)
Lucia’s scent is on my skin.
Her intimate scent.
I don’t know what it means or how Lucia’s scent still clings to my skin a week after our last encounter. But I do know I can’t piece any of this together without her.
“Find them.” My voice is steadier now but still rigid. “Please.”
Giovanni relays the order to Nico, who reports back a moment later. “They’re at the grocery store with Marco, getting supplies. Someone’s eating fancy tonight. Lobster tails for you and crab sticks for Camille. No fucking clue who the ramen noodles are for.”
“Lucia,” Giovanni and I say in unison, well-versed on stubborn, beautiful women who refuse to accept a life vest even when they’re drowning.
Although I’m pissed Lucia still can’t put herself first, my lungs finally accept a full breath.
“Okay.” I exhale slowly. “If they have perishables, they should be home soon.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Giovanni asks, suspicion creeping into his tone. “You’re acting strange.”
I want to tell him I’ve lost two days of memories and ask him to find them, but that will only cause panic, which always leads to my brothers stomping over the privacy I’ve barely had a moment of recently.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’ll call you later.”
I hang up before he can question me further.
Needing to scrub the confusion off my skin before Lucia and Camille come through the door and see me like this, I head to the bathroom.
As I step inside, I notice a washcloth hanging partway out of the laundry basket. It’s damp and scented with soap, and the trash can is without a liner, as though it was removed in a hurry.
My stomach twists again, but no matter how deeply I search through the sludge in my head, nothing emerges.
In the shower, hot water pounds my back as I search for answers that refuse to come. I couldn’t have gotten blackout drunk. I’ve been struggling all week not to start a mafia war, so I might have had a drink to keep myself in my apartment instead of watching Lucia sleep, like a lovesick idiot, but a drink or three wouldn’t erase memories or explain why I woke up naked.
I don’t masturbate to my daughter’s nanny in a bedroom where evidence could be left.
I do it in the shower like all dirty old perves do.
When the water turns cold, I relinquish my fruitless search for answers. I quickly dry off and then get dressed. As I leave the bedroom, footsteps outside the apartment freeze me, and my attention snaps to the door.
Are Lucia and Camille back?
Ignoring my thumping temples, I race to the door and throw it open so fast the hinges protest.
The person requesting entry isn’t Lucia or Camille.
It isn’t even Marco.
It’s a court-appointed pathologist that the judge approved to drug test Anna throughout our custody hearing and subsequent ruling.
“Mr. Caruso,” he says, holding a clipboard and a sealed kit. “I’m here to administer a mandatory drug test ordered by Judge Sullivan this morning.”
My blood runs cold.
Of all the days for this to happen, this is the worst possible time.
Chapter 26
Lucia
The café door jingles as I slip inside, and buttery air envelops me like a cozy blanket on a winter morning. Even though I moved to Carlisle only months ago, the scent of cinnamon and sugar offers a crutch I don’t deserve but am quickly craving.
Camille and Marco are waiting in the car, and I’m still pretending that stopping at a café for a pie is a perfectly normal errand for a live-in nanny. Preparing Dante a nice dinner in the hope it would make him feel better wasn’t my idea. Camille suggested it, and I latched on to it, hopeful if I keep busy, I won’t have time to think about anything else.
Luna is behind the counter today. Her long legs announce why she was a favorite in the local strip scene. She’s a beautiful woman who could demand top dollar, but instead she chooses to work at a café for minimum wage.
I haven’t explored her reasoning yet, but I hope to one day follow her path. Waitressing won’t give Gabriele the life he’s used to, but at least it’s honest work.
Luna spots me instantly. “Hey.” She leans forward, a playful smile toying with her lips. “Are you still looking for work?”
My head nods before my brain catches up. It’s a survival instinct. The person I have to be answers before the person I hope to become can intervene.
She joins me at the pie station. “An old client mentioned a private gig next weekend.”
Just like that, my stomach drops. Private gigs always surface out of nowhere when you’re desperate.
“Thanks, but I swore off private parties a long time ago.”
She gives me a knowing look. “I thought you’d say that, but I had to ask. Some dancers are happy to look past their beliefs for ten thousand dollars.”