Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I’m not sure if any of this is true, but I need to know what’s going on so I can save what’s left of this event. There’s a sour mood hanging over the entire party now, the good mood drained away.
“You saw who cut the power.”
“I didn’t…”
“I’m not asking you. I know you know. So, you might as well drop the act and just come clean. Who was it? Describe him to me.” When she doesn’t respond, I snap, “Was he tall? Full head of gray hair? Were his teeth straight, white, and noticeable, perhaps new or worked on? A gold watch on his wrist?”
With each follow-up question, she tightens her straitjacket grip around her own body.
“His name is Rocco,” I say.
She finally looks at me – sharply. “How do you know that?”
“Instinct,” I say, thinking about how strange he’s been acting, the smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
She shakes her head slowly. “You don’t understand…”
“They’re in the mob, and he threatened you because he’s the one who’s behind this mess, right? Right?”
“His name is Rocco,” she mutters.
“And he threatened you to cut the power and to sabotage this event.”
A quick nod.
“I didn’t say anything.” She stares at me pleadingly. “Okay? I said nothing.”
“I understand, Rosy.” I touch her arm softly. “I’m going to make this right.” I turn to the two big men. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your names.”
“Rocco,” the big one grunts.
The other, leaner, with a slightly kinder face, says, “Nico.”
“One of you needs to stay with Rosy. She’s the resort manager, and we need to make sure nothing happens to her.”
“We can’t leave you,” Rocco rumbles out.
“Dario gave us orders,” Nico explains.
So, Dario gives orders. He’s not just a grunt. Of course not–I heard Vittorio. If he’s the king, that makes Dario the prince. The prince of the mafia. I feel like I’ve fallen into a surreal dream.
“I don’t care what he ordered you. One of you is enough, surely? She needs you more than I do.”
“We can’t—”
I interrupt when I see Dario approaching. “Dario!”
He strides toward me, no typical smirk on his face, everyone moving aside to give him a wide berth.
“Please tell one of them to guard Rosy, the resort manager.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Can you just, just please.”
He turns to the bigger one. “Rocco, stay with her. Nico, follow us, but keep a distance.”
“Follow us?” I snap. “Where are we going?”
The two men have already snapped into action to follow Dario’s commands.
“What did you hear?” he asks, reaching out.
I slide away, out of his grasp. “I heard enough,” I huff.
We walk away from the party–not that it’s much of a party anymore–and end up in the semidarkness of a palm tree’s shadow.
“I wanted to tell you,” he says. “But I was afraid…”
“To tell me you’re a mobster who threatens people, kills people, hurts people?”
“Those phone calls aren’t what you think.”
“They weren’t mafia business?”
“A rival mafia is trying to push hard drugs. I’m stopping them. Language like that, even actions that might make polite society cringe, are all they understand. The world isn’t normally glistening horizons and warm sand, Siena. It’s rough and tough an—”
“Save your speech,” I cut in. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters,” he insists.
“No–it doesn’t. I told you this wasn’t going anywhere. Now I’ve got a reason to stick to that.”
He catches my hips. Somehow, it still feels so good. Tingles course over my back, down between my legs. My core miraculously aches despite everything.
“You keep saying that. I haven’t believed it once.”
“You’ve had as much of a fling as you’re going to get.”
“This was never going to be just a fling. You’re too stubborn, beautiful, clever, and resourceful. You’re too you, Siena.”
“You can’t talk your way out of this.”
“I’m telling you the truth. Call it a speech, cheesy, or any damn thing you want. There’s something here, and even if you want to fight it, you feel it too.”
He grabs me as if he owns me. I hate it. I love it. I want more of it.
He pulls me in, and I throw my arms around him and dig my fingernails into the back of his neck as though that can make up for this passion.
The kiss is intoxicating. He groans, the hard ridges of his body pushing through his suit, pressing right against me.
“How many times are you going to kiss me and make me stop you?” I pant.
“At least one more.”
Another cataclysmic kiss. I curl my toes as the desire to touch him all over his body grips me like a vise. He’s growing excited, his manhood stiffening, despite the circumstances, the lies, everything.
“I know who cut the power,” I say, breathing hard.
“What? How? Who?”
“Let me go and I’ll tell you.”
Part of me hopes he doesn’t, tells me I’m too tempting to let go. But then he releases me.