Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Which by the way, is exactly what I didn’t get. The candy I have sat up some nights praying to God for… just one last time. There were times when I would fuck myself into a coma and could still go more if I allowed myself to fester on the memories that he and I had. God is obviously a sadist, because he let my pussy weep every night for a man that he knew wouldn’t be coming back to me.
A grunt leaves him as he backs me up against the wall with both hands pressed on either side of my head. “You fuckin’ wait.”
There’s a knock on the door we just came out of.
“Sir, sorry, they’re not very… patient.”
Nik pushes off the wall, rearranging the front of his pants. “Fucking Italians,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Hey!” I shove him, straightening my top. “Pretty sure I’m Italian!” I wasn’t joking. I just, I guessed. Truth is worse because I don’t know anything about my family.
He grabs me by the hand and my little steps try to catch up to his. “Sorry, baby girl. I’ve met your daddy, and he’s not Italian.”
I pause my walking, but it does nothing to stop his, so I tug my hand out of his grip. “What do you mean, you’ve met my dad? I don’t have a fucking dad.”
Niko curses under his breath, turning around while still keeping the door open, wide enough for whoever it was that came to give him that message to hear, and possibly see, whatever was about to go down.
“Yeah, you do. Can we finish this later?”
I shake my head, my mouth wide open. For what feels like the hundredth time this morning, I want to hit Niko over the head. “No. You will tell me fucking now!”
The man standing behind Niko is dressed in a suit that is black from head to toe. His eyes jump to mine as the color drains from his face.
“Niko, you can’t drop a bomb and walk away.”
“I know him.”
“What?” I snap, grinding my teeth. I’ve almost peaked my patience threshold for him today.
Niko rolls his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that looks way too sexy for it to be sexy right now. “I know him because he’s the capo of les beaux voyous, as in—”
All of my blood leaves my body. “The French Mafia.”
I had thought about this moment many times since finding out Pierre Laurent was Meraki’s biological father. Whether I should tell her or keep it to myself, or even if the relevance of it would make it information she would need to know. Meraki didn’t know anything about her family. Growing up, she questioned her aunt about it all the time but was always met with backhanded answers that weren’t really answers at all more than they were decoys. I couldn’t give Meraki decoys if I tried, which, being honest, I never would. I couldn’t, though, because she sees through everything I’ve ever tried to keep from her. I could fool her for a while, but eventually, she’d beat down the walls I keep up.
The door slams upstairs and I turn around to face Mal. “Keep an eye on her. She’ll most likely act up and try to run away.”
Mal keeps his expression placid. Not only does he know what his job entails, but he’s very fucking good at it. The best, actually, his background proves it. Mal has been with me since he and I first met at a bar in Las Vegas, not long after I found myself in my current position.
“And if she runs?” Mal asks, tucking his gun into the holster of his suit pants. It was a dead-end question, one he didn’t need emotion to do, because that was Mal, emotionless and cold. He’s as dead as a doornail inside, and that works for me and the job I have him doing.
I keep my eyes on his. “Then chase her, gag her, and tie her up in the basement.”
Mal nods and moves to the stairs, where Meraki stormed up moments ago. She ain’t gonna make this easy on me, and I’m not gonna give it to her easy either.
I continue down the hallway until I’m at the threshold of the largest room in my house, with the exception of the display garage, pausing when I see not just the Italians, but the fucking French himself sitting at the head of the table.
Fuck.
This is not going to end well.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I say, shutting the doors behind me and looking pointedly at Pierre.
I speak to the man often, mainly for work but also for our common ground. He never calls in without letting me know, and the fact that Meraki is just upstairs makes me anxious. Not that I think Pierre will hurt her, quite the opposite, but because of the reason why he could be here.