Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Where’s Dario?”
“He’s probably at the ballet company,” Renzo replies. “He’s been busy with the upcoming show.”
Right.
“There’s a meeting at my club tomorrow at nine.”
“It’s a Saturday,” Renzo mutters.
“Your point being?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be there.”
“You better have a lot of coffee,” Franco says.
The corner of Angelo’s mouth lifts. “See you tomorrow.”
I end the call and glance out the window.
Carlo drives us to the penthouse, where the helicopter is waiting, and as we take the elevator to the roof, he says, “It will be nice to spend the weekend at home.”
I just nod, my thoughts turning to my other problem.
It’s been a week since I left Gabriella at the mansion.
I’ll have to wait until after the ballet company’s show before bringing up the subject of an arranged marriage to Dario.
We climb into the helicopter, and as it lifts into the air, I look down at my city.
I’ve worked my fucking ass off to make a name for myself. The blood I’ve shed forms a red carpet in the streets where everybody knows my name.
I want Miguel dead.
As we fly over Long Island, where Angelo lives, I think about how busy the other men’s lives have become. Angelo and Franco are drowning in baby shit and diapers. Renzo is focused on his woman and the restaurant he opened for her. And Dario is working his ass off at the ballet company.
Once I’ve dealt with Miguel and arranged the marriage between Dario and Gabriella, I’ll take some time off.
Maybe I’ll take Mamma on a vacation. She seldom gets to leave the mansion.
The helicopter lands on the helipad, and climbing out, I glance at all the guards while I walk to the French doors.
When I step into my home, I suck in a deep breath of the familiar air and let it out slowly.
I head straight for my suite, and shutting the door behind me, I let the darkness wrap around me. My eyes drift closed, and I drink in the silence.
I’ve always been a bit of a recluse, and interacting with people exhausts me to my core.
Taking another deep breath, I switch on the lights and head to the bathroom. I open the faucets and while the water warms up, I strip out of my suit.
As I place my Glock on the counter, my eye catches my reflection in the mirror and staring at myself, I take in the fine lines around my eyes.
I see the emotionless expression and try to remember the last time I felt any kind of emotion.
A frown forms on my forehead when a memory flashes through my mind.
Gabriella keeping eye contact with me in the living room of her parents' house, caught me by surprise. When she took a step away from me but then caught herself and stood her ground, something shifted in my chest.
She was manhandled but kept her chin raised.
Stefano even hit her with his belt, and she didn’t shed a single tear.
Gabriella is either fucking strong or broken beyond repair.
In my experience, I’ve learned broken people don’t fight back. Which means she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever encountered.
She’ll be a good match for Dario with his soft heart.
Letting out a sigh, I step into the shower and let the warm water wash over my body.
I automatically go through my routine before switching off the faucets and drying myself. When I walk into the closet, I’m tempted to put on a pair of sweatpants so I can just go to sleep.
Check on Mamma first.
I grab a pair of chinos and a sweater. After getting dressed, I stop in the bathroom to get my Glock, and as I tuck it behind my back into the waistband of my pants, I leave my bedroom.
The mansion is quiet when I take the stairs down to the first floor, but nearing Mamma’s sitting room, I hear Gabriella say, “The dresses are so pretty.”
“Bridgerton is my favorite show,” Aunt Greta murmurs.
Just as I’m about to enter the sitting room, Mamma says, “Describe the dresses to me, Gabriella.”
“They have really high waistlines. They’re elegant, and all the colors are pastel. Some have flowers printed on the fabric. They kind of remind me of the outfits they wore in Pride and Prejudice.”
“I saw that movie,” Mamma mentions. “Good, now I have an idea of what everything looks like.”
“Aida hasn’t always been blind,” Aunt Greta says, and it has me stalking into the sitting room.
Gabriella startles, and Aunt Greta’s eyes fly to me. I head straight for my mother, a smile already forming on her face.
She’s always been able to feel whenever I’m close by.
“You’re home,” she murmurs, reaching out in my direction.
Taking hold of Mamma’s outstretched hand, I help her to her feet, and without bothering to greet the other two women, I lead her out of the sitting room.