Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I shove the ledgers back into the drawer and clutch the loose pages to my chest. My stomach is in knots as I move toward the elevator. The hallway is quiet—too quiet—and something makes me hesitate.
That prickling sensation. The kind that creeps up your spine when you’re being watched.
I glance over my shoulder, but of course, there's nothing there. No one else works on this floor except for Sandro. I swallow, fighting back the unease starting to churn in my gut. I take one step, and then another, knowing that I'll feel safe when I'm in the elevator, but too nervous to turn around and leave myself vulnerable.
I'm just a few feet away when I hear it—the creak of a floorboard.
Before I can react, an arm snakes around my waist, yanking me back. A rough hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my scream. My papers scatter, slipping from my grasp like dry leaves, floating uselessly to the ground.
“Going somewhere, Emmy?”
My body goes rigid. Marco’s voice is low, almost amused, as he pulls me tight against his chest. I thrash, kicking back, twisting in his grip, but he’s too strong. His arm is a steel band around my ribs, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Enzo didn't keep you around as a pretty side piece, that's for sure, so I knew you had to be smarter than you let on. Too bad you didn't figure it out before I put a bullet in the old man's head."
His voice is dripping with cruelty, and I fight back even harder, my heart breaking. He killed Enzo, the fucking traitor. I try to scream, but his hand presses harder against my lips, his fingers digging into my jaw.
He chuckles. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t want to ruin that pretty face for Alessandro, do we? I want to make sure he recognizes you when I dump your body on his doorstep."
Bile rises in my throat. I can’t let this happen. I won’t.
I go limp in his grip, just for a second, just enough to make him think I’m giving up. His hold loosens—not much, but enough. I throw my head back, smashing it into his nose. Marco curses, his grip faltering. I twist, jerking to the side, and his hand slips from my mouth. I suck in a breath and open my mouth to scream for Sandro—
Blinding, white-hot pain slams into the side of my head.
He's punched me, I realize in disbelief.
My vision tunnels. My knees buckle, my body tilting, but before I can hit the ground, Marco catches me. He fists a hand in my hair, yanking my head back so I have to look up at him. Through the haze of dizziness, I see his face—blood dripping from his nose, eyes dark with rage.
“You just had to fight, didn’t you?” he growls. His grip tightens, fingers tangling in my hair as he wrenches me closer. “I would have made this easy on you, you know. But Enzo and Alessandro both made you think you're more important than you really are. Well, allow me to rectify that."
Then he hits me again, and all I know is darkness.
7
ALESSANDRO
The air in Bellissimo feels off as soon as I walk in. It’s a shift so slight that most wouldn’t notice it, but I do. Conversations stop when I pass by, and men stare at the floor instead of meeting my eye. There’s an undercurrent of tension that has alarm bells ringing in my head.
There’s only one person in this building I care about, and I’m determined to confirm her safety before trying to get to the bottom of whatever bullshit is going on here.
I move fast, stalking through the main floor and heading toward the stairs. The elevator would be too slow. I try to keep my cool. Emmy should be at her desk in front of my office like she always is. I told her to stay put until I finished up with business, thinking she’d be safe enough with the floor being inaccessible without a keycard, but dread had already started to settle in my chest.
The hallway is too quiet when I reach the top floor. Her desk is empty, but the office door is open just a crack, light spilling into the dim corridor, and for a beat, I start to relax. She’s just inside my office. Nothing is wrong.
And then I see it.
The chair behind the desk is tipped over. Papers are scattered across the floor, twisted and crumpled as if whoever had been holding them was involved in a struggle. All of that fades into the background when I see the red.
A smear of red stains the corner of the desk. The world tilts around me.
I stare at the blood for one long, frozen second before my pulse explodes in my ears, drowning out every other sound. Rage threatens to drown me, but I can’t give in to it. Not yet, not when I still need to find her and whatever bastard would dare to touch what is mine.