Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
A sob rises in my throat, but I swallow it. Not here.
The car finally slows in front of a brick building with blacked-out windows and a faded gold sign above the door. It looks like it used to be expensive in a very specific way. Men smoking cigars. Women pretending not to hear things. Deals made in back rooms over old, expensive whiskey.
The passenger door opens, and the man up front gets out first. Then he opens my door and offers me a hand. I stare at it.
He sighs. “You can take my hand, or Paulie can carry you. Mr. Calderone told us to be gentle, but he didn’t say we had to be patient.”
“Lucky me.”
I take his hand, because I don’t want Paulie, whoever the hell that is, touching me. He helps me out carefully, one hand staying lightly on my elbow as he walks me to the door.
Inside, the building smells like old smoke and leather. The entryway is dark, with heavy wood paneling and framed photos on the walls. Men in suits. Ribbon cuttings. Charity dinners that were likely fronts for money laundering.
We pass a bar with green lamps and shelves of liquor that look untouched. Then a narrow hallway. Then another door. The man opens it. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m seeing.
Dad is tied to a chair in the middle of a room that probably used to host poker games or private meetings. His face is swollen, one eye nearly shut. There’s blood dried at the corner of his mouth and on the collar of his shirt. His hands are bound behind the chair, and his head is hanging forward like he’s too tired to hold it up.
“Papa,” I choke.
His head lifts.
The second he sees me, something breaks in his face.
“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no.”
I lunge toward him, but the man beside me catches me around the waist and drags me back. Not roughly. He holds me firmly, careful not to put pressure on my stomach, like my baby is precious cargo and I’m the inconvenient container.
“Let me go,” I scream. “Let me go!”
“Sofia,” Dad says, his voice cracking. “Carina, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
That undoes me more than the blood. He’s apologizing to me. Tied to a chair, beaten half to hell, and he’s apologizing to me.
“No,” I sob. “No, don’t. Papa, don’t. This isn’t your fault.”
“Sofia Bellini,” a man says behind me. I turn toward his voice. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I know without anyone saying so that this is Enzo Calderone. He’s wearing a charcoal suit and a smile that makes me want to rip the nearest lamp from the table and hit him with it. He’s older than Dominic by at least a decade, maybe more, with silver hair and deep lines on his face.
“You kidnapped my father,” I spit. “This isn’t a social call.”
“And yet you came willingly,” he says warmly. “I, for one, am glad you accepted my invitation.”
“Let him go,” I say between clenched teeth. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
Calderone’s expression softens in a way that feels more dangerous than anger.
“I understand why Dominic is so taken with you now. You have a lot of fire in you.”
“You’ve got me,” I try again. “Just let him go.”
One of the men near the door coughs like he’s covering a laugh. Calderone’s smile widens.
“You’re really in no position to make demands, Sofia.”
I hate the way he casually says my name. I hate that he’s acting like we’re just old friends instead of a dangerous man who’s kidnapped my father and me.
Calderone crosses to the long table near the wall and pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter, like he’s hosting a dinner party.
“Dominic Vieri has spent years convincing this city he cannot be touched,” he says. “No soft places. No exposed nerves. No weakness. Men like him build their empires on that kind of myth.”
“He has family.”
“Yes. A sister protected by walls, money, and men who would die before they let anyone breathe too close to her. Rafe, who may as well be a blade with legs. Soldiers. Lawyers. Drivers. Useful people, certainly, but not soft people.”
I hate how easily he says that.
“And then there’s you,” he continues, turning back toward me. “A pregnant mistress.”
My skin crawls.
Dad spits blood onto the floor. “Go to hell.”
Calderone looks amused.
“I see where you get that fire from, Sofia. It’s cute how hard you two are fighting to pretend you’re in any position to bargain.”
“Dominic will find me,” I say.
“I’m sure he will try.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Possibly.” Calderone takes a sip of his drink. “But not before he makes mistakes. Men like Dominic are most dangerous when they are cold. I need him hot. Reckless. Human.”
My stomach twists. I think of Dominic’s face when I stepped away from him outside the safe house. The way he looked like I had hit him. The way I did it because I needed him to understand that his control had hurt me too.