Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
“Please, Lelia,” he pleads with me.
I’ve never seen my father weak or emotional. He’s always been strong, like the pillars that hold up the enormous balcony that stretches the length of our home.
“Okay.” I nod, unsure of why he’s acting so strange this morning.
“Last night,” he starts with a sigh, “when we were celebrating your birthday, I got intel that we were in the company of our enemies.”
My heart stutters at his words. He knows. He must know. Shit.
“I heard we had the Montesano scum here, and even though I dealt with it, had the men throw them out of our home, I’m worried they’ll come for you.”
It feels as if I’m frozen because I can’t continue pouring my coffee, or even settling in to eat my breakfast. I look at my father then, forcing myself to feign a shocked expression.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Papa,” I tell him. “I didn’t even notice if there was a scuffle at the party. It was such a lovely evening.” As much as I feel sick lying to him, or at least not telling him the entire truth, I know I have to if it means keeping Domenico safe.
“It was a lovely evening,” Papa agrees with a nod, then his eyes crinkle when he smiles at me. It’s not often my father smiles, but seeing it now, I’m thankful he’s accepted my words as the truth. “I know you don’t really want to take over the organization, but I feel you need to. There are so many important things that have been passed down through the generations of Vitale, and you are an important part of this family. I want you to be able to step into my shoes when and if need be.”
In this home, death is spoken about as if it were something to get used to and it never made sense to me. Losing someone you love and moving on as if nothing had happened is strange because there should be mourning, sadness, grief. But the way my father has always spoken about the moment I’m meant to take over if he were to be killed, or if he just passed on from natural causes, has always been as natural as talking about the sky outside. There’s no emotion in his words, but there’s a tension that shudders through him when he looks at me. And I wonder if he just doesn’t believe I could do it.
“You’re the only one I trust to do it, my angel,” he tells me as he watches me for a reaction. When he first brought it up a while ago, I burst into tears. I was ten. Now I’m eighteen and I’ve become accustomed to his ramblings about death.
The heavy burden he’s placing on my shoulders is enough to turn any sane person mad. But I can’t show him my fear. I also can’t allow him to see the pain in my heart, knowing I’m going to have to fight against Domenico.
It sounds stupid as I think about it. I’m not in love with the guy, but there’s a connection there. It feels as if I’ve been tethered to him.
“I know,” I whisper my reply to my father, but I can’t meet his eyes because I’m afraid he’ll read what’s written all over my face. I don’t want to disappoint him, and I don’t want to make him angry either. Getting on the wrong side of him is not a good thing to do. I have seen what happens to people who disobey Papa.
There’s a smile on his face. One I’ve only ever seen when he talked about me taking over the family business. I never saw something like that for myself. At my age, I should be out partying with friends, not considering the torture chambers in our basement for those who would go against me one day.
And there are many of those. Men who are more willing to kill me than kill for me.
When we finally go to my father’s office, there’s an air of excitement that radiates from him. I don’t have the heart to disappoint him. No matter what he does in this life, he’s still the man who raised me. And for all his faults, there’s still love in his heart, in his eyes when he looks at me and Mom.
“This will be your desk one day,” he tells me as he rounds the back and settles into the enormous, black leather chair. It’s a throne for the king of the Vitale family. “When my father sat me down and told me what was expected of me, I didn’t think I could do it,” he says causing me to snap my gaze to his.
The shock must be written on my face because he chuckles. It’s the last thing I ever expected him to tell me. He’s always seemed so sure of himself, confident in his demands and his decisions.