Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“Chantel, we need to talk. You know I was drunk last night. Just give me a chance to explain.”
Chantel doesn’t answer him, but Mariella does.
“Is that Marco?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh good.” She joins me at the door, edging her way in beside me. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”
“What?” He scowls at her.
She punches him in the solar plexus, and he staggers back, choking on air before she hits him with a palm strike to the nose.
He goes down, blood spewing out of him like a fountain, but she isn’t finished. She presses her heel into his neck, pinning him there as she leans down to make sure he hears her.
“If you don’t leave her alone, I will cut off your balls and feed them to you. Then I’ll take every one of your vital organs and give them to people who actually deserve to breathe.”
Rafe squeezes his way in, popping his head out the door to witness the spectacle.
“Jesus, Ari,” he mutters. “You fucked him up.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Mariella smirks. “My brothers taught me well.”
Marco wheezes, trying to say something, but the words don’t fully form. Satisfied that she’s gotten her point across, Mariella breezes back to the kitchen while I watch Marco writhe in pain.
“You have thirty seconds to get off her porch,” I tell him. “And if you ever come near her again, I’ll make what Mariella just did feel like a fucking picnic.”
I close the door on him, and when I turn around, Chantel’s gaze catches mine.
We linger in that moment for far too long before she forces herself to look away. But I didn’t miss what I saw there.
For all her claims of independence, there’s still a part of her that needed that. And if the concern in her eyes is any indication, she liked it far more than she wants to admit.
9
CHANTEL
“I always knew he was an asshole,” Abella says. “But I didn’t think he was actually dangerous.”
“That makes two of us,” I mutter.
She leans back in her chair, picking off another piece of cornetti as she processes everything I just told her. The three of us have been holed up in the kitchen for the last half hour since she arrived, and I shared the condensed version of what happened last night.
It isn’t something I would have brought up on my own, but Angelo told Abella this morning before she came over, and apparently Cristian told Mariella. They’ve promised to keep it between us until I’m ready to share with the others, which will probably be never.
I don’t want them worrying about me.
I take a sip of my coffee, thoughts drifting as my gaze settles on Cristian across the room. I can’t seem to stop stealing glances at him, but every time I do, I feel humiliated over everything that happened last night.
Not only did I climb onto his lap and offer myself up to him, he caught me doing something nobody else has ever witnessed.
I’ve never been so mortified in my life.
I have no idea what I was thinking, but in my drunken mind, I convinced myself that the tension between us was actually chemistry. Now I know it was delusion.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to face him on a regular basis when I can barely meet his eyes. I can only imagine what he thinks of me, but I suspect the current security measures are a result of his pity.
“You absolutely hate this, don’t you?” Mariella says.
“Yes. It’s too much.”
“It’s not enough,” Abella argues. “I don’t even want you staying here alone knowing Marco could come back whenever he feels like it.”
“I could make sure he never does,” Mariella offers.
I laugh, even though I know she’s dead serious.
“I’m not sure we’re there yet,” I tell her. “Besides, I think Cristian might have something to say about that.”
“Well, from what Angelo told me, Cristian nearly took care of it last night,” Abella says. “He would have if Angelo hadn’t stopped him.”
Admittedly, the details surrounding that part of the night are a little fuzzy. I remember the basic sequence of events, but I was also drunk and exhausted at that point. Now I have to wonder if Cristian resents me for inadvertently putting him in that position.
“Don’t feel guilty,” Mariella says, seemingly aware of where my thoughts are going. “Marco only has himself to blame for the consequences of his actions.”
“Do you think he and Cristian will reconcile?” I ask.
“Not a chance in hell.” Mariella shakes her head. “From the sounds of it, their friendship was hanging on by a thread as it was. My brothers don’t associate with men like that.”
I nod, because I know she’s right that Marco is the only one at fault here. But I still don’t like the fact that I was the final straw in this scenario.