Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
That news had come as more of a surprise than it should have. It’s not like I’m walking around with enemies around every corner, but I figured whoever was behind this had to have a vendetta against Nick, and that was before I knew about his family ties. Finding out that Sloane orchestrated the whole thing in an attempt to ruin our relationship and get Nick all to herself was… unpleasant, to say the least.
If Nick wasn’t already in the doghouse for all of this, he’d definitely be in trouble for failing to mention that they fucked.
It was only once, sure, and it was years ago, but still. He gave me the rundown of how he hadn’t even known it was her when it happened, but there’s only so much I can forgive right now.
Besides, knowing it was Sloane that did all this only serves to scare me more. She went this far just because she wanted Nick to herself. How far is she willing to go now that her scheme got her arrested?
I’m sure she’ll see it as a reason to seek revenge.
She’s locked up, but the cops aren’t having any luck getting the names of her accomplices out of her. All they know is that she had someone else doing her dirty work—hacking The Echelon’s cameras, delivering the photos, texting me on an untraceable number. If they can’t figure out who she was paying to do all of this, who knows what will wind up happening?
Even through my terrified, whirling thoughts, I can’t keep my mind off Nick.
He’s trying to make me feel better, trying to fix everything he can, and it’s just making me feel guiltier by the day. He’s being impossibly understanding about how I’m handling things, not pressing me for a response or asking for forgiveness. He’s just… checking on me. Making sure I’m okay.
Caring about me.
Every time I read his messages, they break my heart a little more, but I can’t stop looking at them. He knows me so well, careful with what he says and what he asks, not sending so many messages that it’s overwhelming, but enough to show he’s thinking of me.
It feels impossible to trust.
After all, if he could hide a mafia family and a year and a half of stalking me, what else could he hide from me? He’s never lied to me, but what if I’m just not asking the right questions? What if there’s still more I don’t know?
I can’t handle another blow like this.
Tonight’s the hardest night I’ve had so far, mostly because Taylor has a dinner meeting that she couldn’t cancel. The sun has just barely set, but the shadows in my apartment already feel too dark, oppressive, and impossible to hide from.
Taking advantage of my impromptu vacation, I decided the best course of action was to get wine drunk on a Thursday night and try to figure out how to handle things. I’m more conflicted about this than I can ever remember being before. On one hand, I’ve come to the somewhat depressing conclusion that despite everything, I’m hopelessly in love with Nick. On the other hand… everything.
The rational decision is probably to break up with him and find a new job.
It makes sense to cut my losses and step away before anything else can go wrong, but the thought makes me feel so empty it hurts. I don’t want to leave my job—that’s easy enough to say with certainty—but Nick is another matter entirely.
Still, I can’t help but feel like running from this, from him, would be the biggest mistake of my life. I just don’t know how to handle any of this.
A knock sounds at my front door, and I tear my eyes away from the dregs of wine in my glass to focus blearily on my front door. Looks like Taylor made good on her threat to order me food to ensure I ate.
I set my glass down on the scratched wood top of my coffee table and stumble up, sighing in annoyance as another knock echoes through my apartment.
“Coming!” I say, trying not to sound either drunk or aggravated and probably failing at both.
The smile I forced onto my face before I opened the door fades immediately when I see who’s standing on the other side of it. Cold, empty eyes, jagged scar cutting through an unfriendly grin, pitch-black hair slicked back against his skull.
Bruno D’Amico.
The last person I want to see right now.
All of the hurt and uncertainty I’ve been struggling with for the last four days comes bubbling right up to the surface as I gape at him. I don’t bother to hide the angry wince that crosses my face, and I sigh heavily, propping myself up with a hand against my doorjamb.
“Bruno,” I say, sounding as thrilled as I feel—not at all. “Can we make this quick? I’m well aware you don’t like me. If you’re here to tell me to stay away from Nick, I’m capable of making my own decisions.”