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)
Fiorella’s my priority.
There’s no disappearing from me. I’ll rip an entire fucking house to the studs just to make sure she’s safe.
“We’ll go tomorrow.” Her hands move to the hem of my shirt. She tugs on it lightly, then slips her palm over the skin of my abdomen. She moves them along my back, grazing her fingernails lightly. The scratching sends a tingle down my spine, and I’m half hard when she kisses me again. “We need to rest up tonight.”
“The way you’re looking at me, I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep.”
“I thought I was trapped in that trunk forever.”
I pull her tighter against me. “I won’t ever let that happen to you. Do you understand, Fiorella?” Passion rolls over my skin. The desire to protect her is like a grenade in my chest. I feel it so strongly my jaw tightens, and if I could bring back those dead Serrano soldiers and kill them all over again for her pleasure, I’d fucking do it.
I’ll make them all scream for what they did to her.
“I know you won’t.”
I kiss her hard. I consume her. I’ll break the whole goddamn world to make sure she’s never in a terrible position like that again. Even though a part of me is proud of her for making the hard decision to climb into that trunk. She’s so much stronger than she realizes, and I know she’s going to be a perfect partner and an incredible mother.
I drag her upstairs, heedless of anything else, because I can’t stand another second without my dick sunk deep between her legs. I need her moans. I need her sweat.
And I need the blood of everyone that fucking hurt her.
Chapter 36
Fiorella
The bulletproof vest is itchy and way too tight. It binds against my breasts and makes it hard to breathe.
“I’m sweating like a freaking pig in this thing,” I grumble as we walk toward Filippo Benedetti’s house. It’s a little row home deep in South Philly. About as Italian as it gets.
“I’d rather you be sweaty and alive than dead.” Luca’s walking very close to me and looking around like a maniac. Enzo’s shadowing us across the street, and Stefano’s in a parked car nearby. One of Davide’s drones buzzes overhead. Leo would be here if I hadn’t insisted on him staying behind to watch Raf and Elisa.
“And I’d rather be pretty and demure for this meeting, not a stinking mess.” I lightly elbow him in the ribs. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”
“It will, because I’m making sure of it.” He seems grim. “Filippo didn’t draw on your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s an ally.”
“He’s an accountant. He’s not stupid. I’ve known him all my life, and if there’s anyone in this Famiglia who makes decisions based on logic and reason instead of raw emotion, it’ll be him.”
“And you think his logic says he should back us?”
“I think he knows the Famiglia is doomed if Corrado takes over. Without Marino money, they’re fucked.”
“Trust an accountant to follow the cash.”
“Exactly.” I kiss my husband’s cheek and beam at him. “Besides, Filippo likes me.”
His expression darkens. “If that motherfucker so much as looks at you—”
“Oh, stop it. I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s been managing the Famiglia’s books forever.”
“Doesn’t change anything.”
“Don’t let your jealousy ruin a good meeting.” We walk up the stoop together, and I step ahead of him to knock on the door. “Best behavior, alright?”
“No fucking promises.”
“An ape, as per usual.”
“More like a bloodthirsty wolf.”
“Nah, that sounds too cool. I’m thinking you’re more of a territorial hippo.”
His reply is cut short when the door opens. A woman smiles out at me, older and round, with graying hair cut short around her ears. “Fiorella, my dear, it’s so good to see you. Filippo said you were visiting, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“Hello, Mrs. Benedetti. It’s nice to see you too.”
“Please, please, you’re not a little girl anymore. Call me Marta.” She gives me a warm hug and ushers me inside. “This must be your husband?”
“Luca Marino,” he says and politely shakes her hand. “Lovely home you have, Marta. Something smells incredible.”
“Ah, just a little something I whipped up for your visit.” Marta grins, eyes gleaming. “Come, my husband is like a little rat, afraid of the sunlight. He hides in his office all day before creeping out after sundown.”
It really does smell incredible, and I make sure to compliment her as well. Marta’s a nice woman, and we’ve met a few times over the years, but I don’t know her well. Some wives are deep in the Famiglia while others like to keep their hands clean. I suspect she’s one of the latter. She likely knows what her husband does in broad strokes but not the details.
We’re taken to a cramped and simple office in the back of the house. Filippo’s sitting behind a basic desk, frowning at a laptop as he types away. He holds up a finger for one moment while Marta leaves us alone.