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)
I blink, my vision adjusting to the dim light. My breath catches in my throat when the shadowy form sitting in a chair by the door comes into focus.
A man, his presence a dark, looming force, sits with wide-spread legs, hands resting casually on his thighs. The low glow of the city skyline from the window behind the bed casts sharp shadows over his face—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips pulled into a slash across his handsome face. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive. A deep, endless gray, as liquid and reflective as mercury. They watch me with quiet, deadly focus as if he’s already decided my fate.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, pushing myself upright. “Antonio?”
His smirk deepens. “You remember me?”
I do, even after all these years.
He was captivating, even to a five-year-old; so tall I felt like I had to tip my head to the top of a mountain to see his intense beauty. My father would laugh when I talked about marrying him, a charming prince who would sweep me off my feet years into the future.
What a twisted joke!
“Why am I here?”
“Why do you think?”
I draw the white comforter, as soft as a cloud, closer around me, trying to hold my voice steady. “You bought me?”
“We did.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think, gattina?
Little kitten. No one’s ever called me something like that before, and as sweet as the pet name is, it fills me with dread. I could guess why this man and his brothers crossed the city to pay an exorbitant price for me, and I don’t believe it’s out of the goodness of their hearts.
I was young when I left this life, but my mama told me all the stories. I know more about the inside of this filthy world than most girls who are still connected to it. Women aren’t brought into confidence unless they’re married or have women in their family with loose lips. The loose lips only come with foolishness or a separation from the threat. My mama’s tongue spilled secrets from a mixture of both.
But I remember this man myself. I remember getting lost in the Venturi house, opening the door to a room, and seeing him kissing a woman passionately against the wall. His trousers were around his ass, and the woman was making funny noises I didn’t understand the significance of at the time. He’d turned at the sound of the door rasping over the thick cream carpet and stared at me as I cowered and then ran.
It wasn’t until years later that I realized what I had stumbled across.
“I don’t think it was out of the goodness of your heart,” I say. “Men always expect a return on their investment.” I leave out the ‘like you’ part because I don’t want to make this personal, even though it is. Poking the bear too hard is a risk I’m not ready to take. If there’s even a slight chance he’s playing with me and about to take me home, I need to leave the door open.
“A return.” He rubs his chin, the stubble rasping against his rough fingertips, then he makes his fingers into a gun and pulls the trigger. “Bingo.” His deadly expression steals the air from my lungs. “Your father,” he continues, his voice a smooth, lethal purr. “Where is he?”
I shake my head, heart pounding. “I told you, I haven’t seen him in years.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t know where he is.”
“I don’t. He left and didn’t look back.”
“Pity.” Antonio leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the upper part of his face disappearing into the shadows. “If we can’t extract blood through him, we’ll have to take it from you instead.”
A chill spreads through my veins. “I don’t know anything,” I whisper, my grip on the comforter increasing until my hands shake with the effort. “If I did, I’d tell you. I owe my father no loyalty. He’s done nothing for me.”
I don’t tell him that I suspect my father is responsible for the death of Mario, the oldest Venturi brother. Or that I suspect the reason for his betrayal. I don’t tell him that our family wears the emotional and physical scars Carlo doled out so easily before he disappeared.
“Ah, gattina. Family is everything. Loyalty is everything. Blood is everything.”
The blood rushing through my veins chills. “Even when blood betrays you?”
Antonio narrows his eyes, holding me captive through nothing but a narrow slit of icy steel. Tears burn my throat and dangle at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I grit my teeth, fists clenching the sheets. Begging won’t save me. Mercy is not something men like Antonio Venturi understand.
He stands and strides forward so quickly that it makes me scramble back. From the end of the bed, he towers over me, as heartbreakingly beautiful as Lucifer and just as deadly. His presence is as thick as incense in the air, as mesmerizing as a violin solo, hair dark and short as velvet, revealing the angles of his sharp jawline. His black sweater, most likely cashmere, looks more expensive than every outfit in my wardrobe, and he pushes at the sleeves restlessly.