Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Women. They wield power they don’t realize they have. Power that they don’t deserve.
I walk away.
***
Morning brings with it fresh resolve.
Before I take a shower, Antonio confirms that Carmella Lambretti is clear on the status of her daughter's safety. She begged and pleaded with Rafa, dropping to her knees to clasp at his ankles, wailing like a banshee.
“She says she doesn’t know where Carlo is?”
“Did Rafa believe her?”
“Yes. He says she’d have done anything to get her daughter back. She’s not hiding her husband.”
I nod. It’s what I thought, but it’s good to have confirmation.
“So, we do what we need to do.”
Antonio nods, already crisply dressed in his dark uniform of expensive black sweater and dress pants. On his wrist glints the Rolex my father gave him for his eighteenth birthday, an expensive reminder of the family we’ve lost to this life.
“I’ll be ten minutes,” I say. “Make breakfast and get Aemelia up.”
“Okay.”
“Is her delivery here?”
“Andriana dropped it off in the night.”
“Good.”
He leaves me to shower and dress, and by the time I emerge, smelling of Parisian cologne, Aemelia is sitting at the dining table, her hair ratty with sleep, a piece of bread poised in her elegant hand.
Antonio has fixed an easy breakfast that reminds me of Sicily—bread, cheese, olives, fruit, cured meat, olive oil, tomatoes, cucumber, and a pot of black coffee. I sit opposite Aemelia and begin to gather my meal.
She watches me as I dip bread in olive oil and cover it with thin prosciutto.
“Eat,” I tell her.
She takes a tentative bite of the bread and chews it like it’s cardboard. In reality, it’s soft and delicious, flavored with sesame.
Alexis strolls from his room, dressed in dark jeans and a polo shirt like he’s ready for a day at the mall. His feet are bare, and his floppy, wavy hair is still dripping from the shower. If I had the energy, I’d lecture him like my father used to about discipline and people’s judgement, but not in front of Aemelia. I won’t waste my breath. He is what he is and there’s no changing him.
He sits next to her, and she braces herself, her delicate arms pressing tight to her chest. Alexis reaches out to touch her unbound hair, letting a section run through his fingers. “Breakfast and a beautiful woman. I hit the jackpot this morning.”
Aemelia’s eyes meet mine, dark brown and haunting, and I hold the stare, waiting for her to break away first. When she does, she lowers the bread to her plate.
“Eat,” I say again, this time louder. No one is fading away under my roof. She will leave this place physically strong if nothing else. If Carlo sees sense.
Antonio, who’s still standing at the counter, watches everything. He’ll be in control today. We need footage of Aemelia to pass to her father’s last known contacts—footage that will draw him out of his rats nest.
“I’m famished,” Alexis says, popping an olive into his mouth. “I slept like a dog.”
“Log,” Aemelia says.
We all stop what we’re doing to stare at her. Did she just correct Alexis?
She did.
I glance at Antonio who tips his head as if to say, I told you she was going to be trouble. Alexis laughs, his initial shock forgotten. “No, gattina. Like a big, lazy fucking dog. But I do have some nice thick wood if you’d like to see it.”
She chews on a piece of mozzarella, seemingly unphased by everything going on around her.
“And you?” I ask her. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a cuckoo,” she says softly. “In the wrong fucking nest.”
I bite the inside of my lip, surprise almost making me smile. Alexis, showing zero restraint, barks with laughter. “This fucking girl.” He slaps the table, making everything jump.
“You know who else is in the wrong fucking nest,” I hiss. “My brother. He’s been resting in the fucking ground in your father’s place.”
“Which is nothing to do with me.” She leans forward, jaw set, mouth pressed into a grim line.
I fight a smile. “Oh, gattina. You’re going to find out just how much it has become your problem after you eat your expensive prosciutto and drink your expensive coffee and dress in the expensive clothes we have ordered for you.”
She looks down at herself. The room is warm but still her nipples are dark and tight beneath the lace. “You mean, you don’t like this beautiful outfit. I thought you’d love it.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s cheap and nasty.”
I narrow my eyes and slowly dab my mouth with a white napkin. When I’m done, I lower it to the table. “She’s done with her breakfast. Antonio, take her to her room.”
This fucking girl.
He’s across the room like a shot, his hand around her upper arm, half dragging her as she struggles to keep up with him. He gave her the warning last night. A warning she hasn’t heeded. Although her rudeness isn’t his fault directly, he’ll take responsibility for it because that’s the kind of man he is.