Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
But Luca just ignores me, eyes on the road. His jaw works, and when it’s clear he’s not talking anymore, I sit back and try to get my racing heart under control.
Chapter 2
Fiorella
Luca parks outside of a large trucking depot out on the edge of Philadelphia. It’s in one of those bland office parks set back away from a main road near where the city blends into the suburbs. A sign out front reads Cross Country Shipping, which is basically the most generic name I’ve ever seen.
“Come on,” he says, climbing out onto the parking lot.
I reluctantly follow, limping as I go. A part of me is tempted to stay in the truck, but I really hate confined spaces. I catch up with him as he strides toward the blue building, struggling to keep pace on my injured knee.
“Where are we right now?”
“I told you, it’s my place.”
“You live here?”
He snorts and shakes his head. “I work here.”
“Does my brother know where I am right now? Why don’t we just go straight to him?”
“Because I don’t know if anyone followed us, and I’d rather not have a gunfight in the city if I can avoid it.” He glances at me with a deep frown. “You ask too many questions.”
“And you’re not telling me anything useful.” I grab his arm before he can walk through a side entrance. His eyes flare as he meets my gaze, and I’m shocked at the thick slab of muscle under my fingers. “Can you just hold on a second?”
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Luca might’ve saved my life back there, but I still don’t know him, and I have no clue what’s going on.
He suddenly turns and takes me by the hips. I yelp in pure shock as his fingers dig into my skin. He turns me, pushes me back against the wall of the building, and drops down to one knee.
My guts do figure eights as the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen looks up into my eyes.
“Let me look at your injury.”
I don’t even know what to say. He’s kneeling in front of me like he’s about to do something much worse than checking out some bruises. Reluctantly, I let him roll up the hem of my baggy jeans, slowly exposing my tanned and muscular leg. I grab the pant leg before he can go much further up my thigh.
“That’s enough,” I say, heart racing.
He licks his lips, looking at me with a strange mixture of desire and surprise. But then he probes at my knee, making a low grunting sound. “I think you’re okay. You’ll be bruised and swollen, but I doubt it’s broken.”
“That your expert opinion?” I shove him back, even though the sight of him down there drives my heart wild. “I want a phone. I need to call Raf.”
“Alright.” Luca stands up as I roll my pant leg back down. My God, what’s with this guy? “Get inside.”
The bossy motherfucker.
But I’m not in a position to argue. Even though I keep trying. He leads me through the door and into an industrial space similar to my family’s big chop shop garage. Except this one’s filled with trucks, some of them undergoing repairs, others sitting around idle waiting to get back out on the road. There are working men in here, but they seem much more normal. Half of them ignore us, and the others seem only mildly curious. Luca nods to an older man with graying hair and a sharp face and gets a small salute in return.
We duck into an office at the far end of the building. Luca closes the door, flips the blinds shut, and locks it. I cross my arms over my chest, struggling to keep myself under control as the memory comes back. Normally, I can keep it out of my head, but watching men get butchered earlier messed me up more than I like to admit, and now some of my old wounds are leaking again.
They’ll come soon. You know they will, right?
Of course they will. So drink as much water as you want.
Shouldn’t I save some for you?
It’s okay. You have it. There’s not a lot.
But what if they don’t come?
They will. Just drink.
I rub my face with both hands, probably leaving grease stains down my cheeks like black tears.
“Here, you can use this.” Luca drops a landline phone onto a big steel desk cluttered with paperwork and notebooks. The office is simple, with a big whiteboard covered in shipping schedules, a calendar, more books, filing cabinets, and work materials, plus several more chairs. There’s a blanket and a pillow folded neatly on a small couch, and I wonder if he sleeps in here sometimes.
I sit in the chair behind the desk. Luca moves away, his cell held up to his ear, speaking softly to someone on the other end. I dial Raf’s number, my knee jostling up and down. I want to get the hell out of this room as soon as I can. I want something to make sense again.