Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I shrug, unrepentant. “There was an incident in town.”
Matteo rounds the desk, props his ass on the battered wood, then folds his arms across his tattooed chest. A knowing smirk curls on his lips, and it’s now that I realize he must have witnessed the whole fiasco.
Of course he did. Matteo misses nothing.
He raises a brow as his eyes glint with amusement. “Saving her life wasn’t enough? You had to drive her where she needed to go, too, Vanni?”
I shoot him a warning look. “She was shaken up. I couldn’t leave her defenseless in the street.”
He pushes off the desk and falls into step behind me as I lead our trek to the “boardroom” where our meeting will be held. “Most people would have walked away.” He catches up to me before backhanding my chest. “By most people, I mean you. You don’t even wait for them to finish shuddering before you skip out butt fucking naked.” He tugs on the lapels of my suit. “Is there a knight hiding somewhere under that tailored suit?”
Grunting, I unlock the boardroom door. “Don’t start. You said it yourself. The councilor is waiting, and Dante isn’t himself. We can’t afford any distractions right now.”
“I think I could spare an hour or two for those tits—”
I silence him with my fist. My whack isn’t as hard as the one that knocked the driver on his ass, but it warns Matteo that occupying Valentina’s time is not up for discussion. Ever.
Matteo holds up his hands nondefensively. If only his words weren’t so vocal. “Elio’s warning was on the money. You don’t just want our drivers acting like Ms. Daisy. You want to keep everyone’s eyes off Valentina’s rack.”
The sting of knuckles on bone lingers on my hand, and I still have a heap of frustration to disperse, but now isn’t the time for shenanigans.
Mercifully for Matteo, Councilor Messina has been tiptoeing the rope for months now, and it’s finally time to remind him who really runs the show around here.
“Councilor…” My snake-like greeting doubles the putrid scent of fear loitering in the air.
Messina looks up. He’s gagged, his wrists are tied behind his back, and his ankles are secured to the legs of a rickety chair. His face whitens when he stalks my entrance, and sweat beads on his cut and swelling brow. The bravado he wore in the council chambers while striking Carlisle locals’ century-old dwellings from the ledgers is gone, replaced with fear and desperation.
He should be scared. Because he ignored Dante’s warnings, there’s only one conclusion for our meeting: It’s time for him to go.
I pause a few feet away from the councilor’s battered and bruised frame before tugging his sticky socks out of his mouth. Even though he’s no longer gagged, silence stretches until it’s uncomfortable.
Matteo’s attention would have assured Messina that we’re not here to discuss business. That chapter closed weeks ago. But there’s no harm in letting him stew. He’s mistaken the Carusos’ ethics once before, so who’s to say he won’t do it again?
You’ll never believe the secrets some men share when they think clemency is on the table.
I’m about to worsen the bruises and nicks mottled throughout Councilor Messina’s body when he tries to take the coward’s route. Bad choice. The driver’s pathetic show of cowardice proves that tactic doesn’t work for me.
“Th-this isn’t necessary, Giovanni. We can talk. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” With twisted lips and a raised brow, I feign interest in his offer. “Is that what you called it when you forced families out of their homes with falsified building defects?”
Messina swallows as his eyes dart between Matteo and me. “It was a misunderstanding. I never meant—”
I cut him off with a backhanded whack that sends two of his teeth scuttling across the concrete floor. My slap also adds depth to the split in his cheek and sends his sobs bouncing off the damp warehouse walls.
“The people you forced out of Carlisle were good, honest people. They had lived here for decades. That wasn’t a mistake. It was a deliberate act of defiance against the Caruso name.”
“No. Never—”
I hit him again. This time with a closed fist. The warehouse is eerily quiet, saved by the councilor’s muffled sobs. The only light comes from the single overhead bulb, which casts shadows across the dirty concrete floor, but it doesn’t hide how coarse his wrists are from the rope or the sweat and blood staining his suit.
Once the councilor’s whimpers simmer to quivering breaths, I crouch down and level my gaze with his. “You know why you’re here, so stop the crap. You and your friends on the council think you can sell Carlisle out from under its people. You think you can force people from their homes and hand their keys to foreigners wanting a slice of Sicilian paradise they didn’t fight blood, sweat, and tears for!” My last five words are roars.