Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
And without another word, he's gone, his heavy footsteps audible on the concrete stairs that lead back to Bellissimo. I stand in the doorway, blinking a few times, before shutting it and locking it like I've been told.
Well, that didn't go quite how I expected. I guess I need to get dressed.
When Sandro returns ninety minutes later, I've dressed for dinner, but his air of seriousness when I answer the door tells me that we're not going somewhere to eat.
No, this is Alessandro DeLuca, Boss of the DeLuca family, not my Sandro. I love both versions of him, but it's still a surprise—
Wait, what? I love him? The realization is so startling that I stand in the open doorway, speechless until Alessandro reaches out to touch my shoulder. "Emmy?"
"Fine! I'm fine!” I chirp, overly bright. “Why do you ask?"
Amusement filters through his seriousness. "I didn't. Are you ready?"
I shake my head, filing away the thought of loving the most dangerous man in Chicago for later, and look down at the black fitted dress I've put on. It's nothing I would wear to work, but hopefully it will work for whatever Alessandro has planned. "Do I look okay? I still have no idea where you're taking me."
"You look perfect, tesoro. Don't bother with the coat, we're just going to the meeting room upstairs."
"Oh. Well, okay." I don't bother to hide my confusion, but I've also learned that if Sandro doesn't want to share, he isn't going to, and there's no point in pushing.
I can feel any easiness bleed out of Sandro as we take the elevator to the meeting room floor, and by the time we're outside the door, he's still as stone and almost unrecognizable from the man I wake up to each morning. I can hear the voices from inside, and my confusion deepens. What the hell is going on?
I feel all of their eyes on me the second I step into the room.
The air is thick with cigar smoke, the smell of whiskey, and the power of all the gathered men. Men who built the DeLuca empire long before Alessandro took over.
And now, they’re all looking at me. I recognize all of them—newly promoted Underboss Lorenzo, all of Alessandro's Caporegimes, and their top soldiers. I've seen them all a million times, but never once have I had their attention directly on me, let alone all of them at once. I'm usually underfoot, unnoticeable, but tonight I am noticed.
Tonight, I am anything but invisible.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of my skirt. Sandro stands at the head of the table like a king before his court. His presence dominates the room, dark and commanding, his suit perfectly tailored to his broad frame. His gaze locks onto mine, and just like that, the storm inside me settles. He lifts a hand to me, silent but expectant. The same hand that has cleaned blood from my face, that has made me come undone in bed. It might look like an order to some, but to me, it's a reassurance.
I take it.
His grip is firm, grounding, and when he pulls me forward, my legs move before I can second-guess myself. All of a sudden, I'm at the head of the table with him, an unimaginable place for someone like me. Silence stretches between us and the men. Some of them watch me with curiosity, others with barely concealed doubt, and a few with clear disapproval.
Sandro doesn’t tolerate it.
“This is Emilia Moretti.” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade. "You all know her, and if you don't, you will after tonight."
The men glance at each other, as if hoping that someone might explain what is going on. I'd like an explanation, too, because I feel like I'm on the verge of being sick.
“She is mine.”
The words are simple and stark. Coming from Alessandro, the Boss, it means something. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but hearing it aloud, in front of these men—these dangerous, powerful men—makes my skin rise with goosebumps. He's not looking for approval; he's telling them with no room for argument.
Sandro squeezes my hand, his warmth steady against my skin. “From this moment forward, she is under my protection. You will show her the same loyalty and respect you show me.”
I barely breathe. No one speaks; no one dares to. When the Boss makes a declaration, all they can do is shut up and listen.
“You will not question her place,” he continues. “If you do, you answer to me.” He pauses and lets the words sink in.
“Betray her,” —his voice drops low and lethal like a viper ready to strike— “and you betray me.”
I swear I hear someone swallow. I know what they must be thinking. I'm nothing but a secretary, someone Enzo pitied and kept around, never knowing what a crucial part I've played over the years. I don’t look like I belong here, next to a man like Sandro. But Sandro doesn’t care what they think, and it's his confidence that makes me realize I don't care, either.