Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
With my head held high, I walk into the sitting room.
Grandmother is perched on the edge of the couch, scowling at the coffee table. Donatella already brought in the tea and poured two steaming cups. Little pink cookies are arranged on a cute china plate. They’re delicious, but there’s no way Helena Willing-Morris is ever going to touch them.
She looks over sharply when I shut the door behind me.
“Hello, Grandmother.” I walk over to greet her. I sink down onto the couch and primly kiss her cheek. “This is a surprise.”
“Lucille, hello.” She frowns, leaning back to inspect me. “Did you do something different with your hair?”
“No, Grandmother. It’s exactly the same.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose that’s true.” Her frown deepens. “Are you experimenting with your makeup? Or perhaps a new wardrobe?”
I push back on my frustration and plaster a smile on my face. “I assume you didn’t come all this way to criticize my clothing choices.”
She scoffs lightly and waves a hand. “No, I most certainly did not.” She reaches down and picks up a cup. I leave mine where it is, which is against protocol. A good lady drinks when her guest drinks; it’s only polite. “I’m here to discuss your husband.”
That’s a surprise. It’s my turn to lean back and narrow my eyes. “Why would he be any of your concern?”
“Because he is making my life extremely difficult.”
I bark out a laugh. I can’t help myself. The idea is so absurd that this has to be some kind of sick joke. But if there’s anything I can be sure of in this world, it’s that Grandmother does not do humor.
“How is Adriano making your life harder, Grandmother?”
She smooths her skirt, scowling openly now. “Have you heard what he’s been doing? That reckless fool. This whole city hates him now, do you know that? And by extension, they hate me. Can you imagine? Marrying my only granddaughter to that Italian criminal was bad enough, but now he’s marching around torching any goodwill we might’ve gained by allying ourselves with his family.”
“Slow down,” I say, standing from the couch. I pace away to give myself some distance from her, even though I know it isn’t polite. We sit still in the presence of company. “What does Adriano’s business have to do with you?”
She bristles, glaring at me. “He’s been destroying art. Can you imagine? Art! Of all things!”
“You’ve never cared about art a single day in your life, Grandmother.”
“Perhaps not, but I do care about investments. He’s ruining millions of dollars every time he goes out and burns down a new warehouse. Insurance can only cover small pieces of that! All of society is in an uproar about this, Lucille, and they’re beginning to turn on me.”
I grind my jaw. I knew Adriano had been taking the fight to Demir, but I didn’t realize exactly how he’s been doing it.
But that makes sense. Demir and his organization deal in auctions and art authentication. They must keep hundreds of different pieces for various rich men and women all over the city, maybe even the whole country. The fastest way to strike back against Demir would be to go straight at the heart of his business.
It’s almost impressive, in a way.
“And how does this affect you?” I ask slowly.
“Because we are married to him, and everyone knows it’s him and his people responsible. Oh, don’t give me that look. Just because the police can’t prove it doesn’t mean we don’t know!”
“Do you realize what’s been going on? Do you have any idea what nearly happened to me?”
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m sure it was horrible, darling, but you don’t get it. Nobody is returning my calls. I’ve lost all my restaurant reservations. My country club membership was abruptly discontinued. And they aren’t even a good country club! This has to stop, Lucille. I need you to discuss things with your husband. Put a stop to this madness, darling.”
I stare at her, unable to help the shiver of loathing that runs down my spine. But a sick part of me wants to obey. I’ve spent my whole life following her rules and scurrying around like an ant to make sure I do everything she says. It’s her voice still in my head, and I’ve only just started to get rid of it.
“No,” I whisper, very quietly.
She frowns and leans closer. “What was that?”
“No.” I speak louder, standing up straight. “No, I won’t talk to him.”
“I know you perhaps think you couldn’t influence a man like that. And I agree, you can be somewhat too soft—”
“No, Grandmother, you don’t understand. I could talk to him, but I won’t. Adriano’s business is his own. If he thinks this is the right way to handle the situation, then I won’t get in the way.”