Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“That I’m a selfish dick who only cares about himself?”
A smile breaks through, then she actually laughs. “No. I hear a challenge, Giovanni. And… I don’t know, I’m kind of always up for one. I think that’s part of my problem. I don’t really understand how to quit?” She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s probably a biological flaw that will get me killed one day.”
“Nah,” I say, reaching for her now. I pull her up to my chest, and she lets me. Which is kind of a reward in and of itself. “I think your flaws are beautiful. And no one is going to kill you. Ever.”
“Not with you around?” she snickers.
“Yeah, all right. That came out lame. But it’s also true.”
“Hmm. The world is filled with assholes. That’s my takeaway. And even if my ex never finds me again, the damage is done. Because now I know he exists. There are people in this world who want nothing more than to hurt others. To manipulate them, and control them, and use them. And for some reason, I’m just… the perfect target.”
“You’re talking about me now.”
“No,” she laughs. “I mean, yes. You’re that guy. But…” She sighs. “Never mind.”
Never mind.
There it is again. The second time today.
Never mind.
I turn to look at her, barely visible in the darkness. “Why would someone want to hurt you? He must be truly evil.”
“Says the mobster...”
“I don’t like to hurt people,” I say, the truth slipping out before I can stop it. “It’s just how you survive with the last name Bavga. Pain is something I inflict on enemies.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “I’m not trying to be mean, but if that man hurt you, he hated you, Emmaleen. You were his enemy.”
“Yeah.” Her voice goes small. “Some men don’t like to be seen. And I have some kind of superpower that sees right into their heads. So I guess it’s my fault.”
Something hot and dangerous ignites in my chest. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know, I know, it’s just—”
“No.” I cut her off. “You are not responsible for what other people do.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who runs a demerit system for women who wear the wrong shoes.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
I sit up, suddenly needing space from this conversation. “Yes. You signed a contract. You knew the terms. And the punishment was standing, not—” I stop myself.
“Not getting thrown down a flight of stairs?” she finishes for me.
The image hits me like a physical blow. “He did that to you?”
“Among other things.” Her voice is too casual, like she’s discussing the weather. “It’s fine. I’m fine now.”
“It’s not fine.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? That I’m broken? That I jump when doors slam? That I haven’t dated anyone in thirteen months because I’m terrified of being trapped again? That I have nightmares where I can’t breathe because he’s sitting on my chest?” Her voice cracks. “Would that make you feel better about your own damage?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want you to be angry.”
She laughs, a harsh sound in the darkness. “I was angry. For months. It didn’t help.”
“It helps me.” This admission costs me something, but I say it anyway.
“Yeah, well, your anger gets to have guns and henchmen. Mine just got me more bruises.”
I reach for the bedside lamp, needing to see her face. She blinks in the sudden light, her eyes red-rimmed but dry.
“Tell me his name.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t need you to fix this for me. I don’t need another man deciding what happens in my story.”
I study her face, looking for cracks in her resolve. There aren’t any.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
“If you change your mind,” I repeat, “I’ll make him regret ever touching you.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “You know what’s weird? I believe you.”
“Why is that weird?”
“Because I’ve known you less than a day, and you’ve been mostly terrible to me.”
I almost smile at that. “Only mostly?”
“The sex was good.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I nearly choke. “And you did pay for that wedding cake I ruined.”
“Low bar.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “I’ve learned to adjust my expectations.”
The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with everything we’ve said and all the things we haven’t.
“What was his name?” she asks suddenly.
“Who?”
“The man you shot. When you escaped.”
I haven’t thought about his name in years. “Carlo. Carlo Bottaro. He was the newest guy, lowest on the totem pole. That’s why he got stuck with babysitting duty.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No. Hit him in the hip. He lived.”
“Do you wish you had? Killed him?”
I consider the question. “No. He was just following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
“Rico’s father. Luca LaRiccia.”
“And he’s still alive? Luca?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, he is. That bastard isn’t going anywhere.”
“Is that why Rico hates you? Because you shot his father’s man?”