Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
The three dots imply too damn much. I feel sick.
“Who was that?” Scarlet says.
“My dad.”
Scarlet moves to the bed, sits beside me, and wraps her arm around me. “Mia, if something’s wrong, we’re here. You can talk to us. About anything.” She lowers her voice. “You know Elio would never let anybody hurt you.”
That’s the really twisted part because whatever else is true, he’s my dad. Maybe he can change. Maybe he can be better. Maybe, maybe…
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Jeez, Scarlet. I’m sorry I didn’t fill you in on every detail, and that stuff about never wanting a man? It’s called a J-O-K-E, okay? Thank you.” I wave at the door, hating myself, knowing this isn’t me, but feeling like there’s no other choice. “Can you… please? I want to finish this before dinner.”
Scarlet stands, looking down at me softly, not fooled by my act, but I can tell she wants to give me space. We’ve all been through our own version of hell: Scarlet with her dad’s death, her mom’s issues, Ruby with that sick congressman’s son, then Lexi with that freak Ralph, but this is different. Mine is the man I was always supposed to be able to rely on.
That’s why I can’t let myself feel like this for Dante, whatever it is. It makes no sense. I know men are untrustworthy. I learned that early on.
“I love you, Mia,” Scarlet says. “That’s how amazing you are. It hasn’t been long, but I love you already. I consider you a member of my family, not just the Family.”
“I love you too,” I tell her.
Suddenly, Molly toddles over, clawing onto Scarlet’s leg. Scarlet giggles and scoops her up. “Say bye-bye to cousin before naptime.”
“Night, night, Me-Me!” Molly sings, melting something in me again, the part that promised never to let myself feel or get tricked by all that silliness.
I walk over to her and kiss her on the cheek. She goes, “Mwah!” which makes all of us laugh, including herself. Once they’re gone, I try to focus on the painting, the wolf, the dog. Which am I? Maybe that’s the sort of question that makes me an insufferable, pretentious, wannabe artist. Who am I?
It’s a fair question. Sooner or later, I’ll have to make a choice. Am I the fierce wolf or the obedient dog? My phone vibrates again. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.
I’ve seen plenty of people in love in my life, Mia. That’s not what I saw between you and Vito.
Who is this? I reply, wondering if it’s Dad playing a trick, trying to get me to admit to things so he can use it against me later. It’s a mental battlefield nobody should have to endure. It’s the whole reason I’m on the East Coast.
The devil, you could say.
I sit on the bed, biting down, trying not to let myself care. The instinct to want and hunger has awoken in me because the other instinct is awake, too—the one of pure terror. The get me away from this stranger instinct. It’s the one that paints my mind in scenes of red.
Dante?
That would be strange, wouldn’t it? Getting your number? Texting you? After we just met.
Not really, I reply. I text people all the time.
In fact, my inbox currently has eleven unread messages, all of them asking about the engagement. I bet my social media is flooded, too, but it’s odd. Despite all those notifications, it doesn’t make me feel any more connected.
Maybe you’d think about reporting the strange mafia stalker to your cousin.
Are you scared, hmm? I ask.
Ha, ha, ha. Is the devil scared of anything?
A gust of wind blows against the house, making it creak. At the same time, a shiver runs right down my middle. I see his dark, dusky hair and his calm face.
Why would you want my number?
Maybe I’m curious, he replies if it is him. You seem like an intelligent, strong woman, Mia. Why would you agree to marry that man if you don’t want to? The Marino brothers wouldn’t make you. Is it your dad?
I almost tell him if it is Dante, not all of it. Not the nasty stuff. Not the stuff I’ve closed away, locked tight, never open, nah-uh, never. I don’t even know who you are. Stop asking personal questions.
You know who I am.
I bite down, thinking of the moment I turned and walked away, a split-second snapshot of Dante glaring at Vito. It was almost like he wanted something to happen, as if he was waiting for a chance to hurt him.
Show me proof.
I wait a minute, glancing at my sketch. I’ve completed the outline of the wolves, but I think I need more nuance and little flourishes like pieces of reality are flaking away and becoming something else.
When he doesn’t reply, I text, Dante?