Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I looked like some girl on her way to early morning college classes. Not a mafia boss’s wife.
With a sigh, knowing there was nothing I could do about it at that moment, I made my way out of the bathroom, making the bed, then finally forcing myself to move downstairs.
I crept around, feeling more like a forgotten guest than someone who belonged.
The main living space smelled of cigar smoke and liquor, and I found myself gathering glasses as I made my way through the space, the evidence of a party I hadn’t been invited to, hadn’t been missed from, making another little crack start in my heart.
I was making my third trip toward the kitchen with glasses when the door suddenly opened, making me jolt, letting out a little yelp that had the man entering stiffening.
Elian.
The man who’d seen me to my room.
Who seemed to remember me more than my own husband.
His gaze slid from my face to my hands, his brows pinching. “That’s not your job, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said, moving toward me, and removing the glasses from my hold before taking them to the sink himself.
“What is?” I heard myself ask, without really meaning to.
“What was that?” he asked, turning.
I cleared my throat, shaking my head. “What is my job?” I asked.
Elian stared at me a moment, those golden eyes as confused as I felt. “You… you don’t have a job,” he finally declared.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“What did you do before?”
I’d worked part-time at one of the family businesses, earning money that I used almost entirely to pay for fancy takeaway coffees and books. So, so many books. All of which I’d left in my childhood bedroom, stacked three deep in the built-in shelving units that lined an entire wall.
“I… worked,” I said.
“Renzo won’t want you working,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“Because the boss’s wife doesn’t need to work,” he informed me.
I guess that was true across all of the families. Most of the Costa women worked when they were young. But then they married. They became homemakers and then mothers.
“What can I do then?” I asked, finding Elian unexpectedly easy to talk to. Maybe it was the hint of softness I saw in his golden eyes, like he understood how I might be feeling, tossed into this new life with no direction.
“Whatever you want to do, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said with a shrug.
“Can I leave?” I asked.
To that, his brows scrunched.
“You’re not a prisoner here.”
Okay.
Well, it was something that needed to be asked, though, right?
I remember when my cousin Isabella had agreed to a forced marriage with the Esposito mob boss, he had rules about her not being able to go places.
But maybe that was more about safety having to do with his work, or the neighborhood he lived in.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with Brooklyn, despite it being so far from home. I understood the areas that I shouldn’t roam, and the ones that were the safest.
I mean, of course I did.
Sneaking off to visit my favorite bookstore was how I first laid eyes on Renzo Lombardi. How I started to give my silly, girlish heart away to him, little by little each time I visited.
I shook off the memories, realizing how fanciful they’d been, how I’d created a fairytale out of my own wishes.
And now I was living a reality that was nothing like I’d dreamed.
“Do I have to clear my schedule with anyone?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” Elian said, but there was a strange edge to his voice, like it bothered him that he couldn’t give me a straight answer.
Because his boss had never talked about me.
About what was to be done about me.
Because Renzo Lombardi never thought of me at all.
My hand went to my stomach where a pang threatened to take my breath away.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I lied, letting my hand fall away. “Just… hungry,” I said, even though the last thing on my mind was food, despite not having eaten in almost a full day at this point. All I’d managed the day of my wedding were a few dry crackers to ease the sloshing sensation in my stomach.
I started toward the fridge, only to have Elian clear his throat.
“There’s nothing in there,” he said even as I pulled open the door to see he was right. Save for an impressive collection of condiments and an array of different drinks, there was nothing in there of note. “Renzo orders in when he’s home,” Elian explained.
“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Okay.”
“Can I pick something up for you?” he asked.
“I… no. I’m alright.”
“You said you were hungry,” he reminded me. And, damn him for being one of those guys who wouldn’t just let things drop.
“I think I’ll just have some coffee,” I said, going toward the pot, though not sure how I was going to choke it down without any syrup, or even cream, since there was none in the fridge.