Ghost Read Online A. Zavarelli books (Boston Underworld #3)

Categories Genre: Action, Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Crime, Dark, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Boston Underworld Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
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The sadness has slowly ebbed away over time. It does not disappear completely. It never does. There are still bad days. Days when the memories haunt me. When the pain feels unforgiving and relentless. But I am learning how to process it.

Changing old patterns and thoughts does not come easily. I still struggle with my deep-rooted fears every day. I worry that this is just a dream. And that soon, I will wake up at Arman’s again.

Alexei has not brought him up. Nor have I.

For now, I am giving him something that I swore I would never give again. My trust.

I am trusting him not to destroy me. I am trusting that if I work hard on my own demons, so will he. Because we have no choice. We have to be better than we were. For our child. And for ourselves.

I spend my days fighting. Fighting to overcome my fears and learning the things that I never had a chance to. Magda teaches me something every day. She teaches me how to cook, to sew, and even how to sing Russian lullabies.

I’m slowly learning the language. So that I can communicate with Alexei in that way. As well as our baby, who will speak both languages.

I spend time with Tanaka, at least once a week. She seems sad at times, locked inside of her own head. She does not speak about her and Nikolai. I only know that when she is here with me, she is happy. We have become close friends.

And more and more, I think about Mack.

I think about seeing her. And hoping that there is still some chance to recover our friendship too.

Soon, I think.

I will contact her soon.

My life has completely changed in so little time. I went from having nothing, to having everything. And it scares me almost all of the time. I think of my baby and wonder what Alexei will be like with his son. I know he will be a good father. But I also know he is nervous. He worries about letting us down.

I see that fear bloom more as my belly grows larger. I see it when he spends time in the nursery, examining the things I bought. And often, I see it late at night. When he is inside of me and looking into my eyes.

I don’t try to reassure him. Because like me, Alexei needs to figure this out on his own. My words will not ease his worries, just as his words won’t always ease mine.

Today, when I pass by his office, he is staring at the chess board on his desk. But Franco is nowhere to be found. Only Alexei, deep in his own thoughts.

I watch him for a while, in the silence. In his element, his brain working in a way that I will never understand. I watch the way his eyes calculate all of the moves, his hand brushing over his jaw. He is so incredibly handsome. My heart is beating too hard, too fast. I ache for him in ways that are not familiar to me. I ache for his words, his touches, his eyes on me.

When I have those things, nothing else in the world exists. He always leaves me longing for more.

“You could say hello,” Franco says from behind me.

I startle at his presence, curious how long he was standing there. Watching me, watching my husband.

“Why don’t you join us,” he suggests. “Somebody besides me should see the man’s chess skills.”

I hesitate, but Franco ushers me inside before I can come up with any excuses. When Alexei sees me, he gives me a curious look.

I was bored this morning, so I spent extra time playing around with my makeup. Smoking my eyes and trying out a new lipstick.

“You look different,” he notes.

I boldly take a seat on his desk and swing my legs off the side, meeting his gaze. “And you like it.”

He smiles, and so does Franco. And then they turn their attention to the game that never seems to end.

“Franco tells me you have some mad skills,” I note.

Alexei waves off the suggestion. “He always lets me win.”

“I never let you do anything,” Franco grunts.

“Can you teach me?” I ask.

Alexei seems surprised by my request. He reaches for my calf and feathers his fingers over my skin, tickling and massaging me.

“I cannot teach you, but you can learn.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just watch, Solnyshko.”

So I do. But I keep getting distracted from the game by the man playing it. His hand is still on my leg, my feet now resting on his thighs.

Alexei is giving and caring and warm. But he is also his own island. He does not accept these things from anybody else.

“What about that one?” I ask him, pointing at the cracked chess piece sitting atop his desk. The one that I know has absolutely nothing to do with this game and everything to do with something else.


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