Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
The woman should have loved me, like a normal mother. And yet, she had never shown me an ounce of love. Never cared about me. When she looked at me, she saw everything I stole from her.
Youth.
Beauty.
Money.
Fame.
Her father’s love.
For most of my life, my mother had locked me in a tiny closet. I didn’t have to do anything to deserve her punishment. Just existing was enough for her.
Someone shook my shoulder, and strong arms wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “Alex, wake up.”
My eyes snapped open. A soft breeze from the bay flew into my bedroom through the French doors. I listened to the water crash against the beach, and my heart stopped racing.
“I got you,” Marcello whispered into my ear. He leaned back against the headboard with his muscular biceps holding me in a vise. “You’re safe, Alex.”
I laid my head on his chest and let out a deep breath. “Marcello.” I slid my palm over his heart, feeling his heartbeat beneath my fingers until my body relaxed. “My nightmares went away… until you brought me back here.”
He sighed, pushing the hair from my sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry. But this is what’s best for you.” His fingers lightly ghosted my skin as he tucked my hair behind my ears. “We’re doing this for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Either I was delirious or still dreaming because nothing Marcello said made sense. When did any of the Salvatores care about what was best for me? And Marcello, of all people, was comforting me. Like he actually gave a damn. This was weird but also nice.
He sat up, bringing me with him. “Time to get up, princess.”
“I need coffee and a shower.”
Marcello tipped his head at the silver tray on the writing desk. A smile tugged at my mouth as our eyes met. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something nice for me. How sad was that?
I slid my legs off the bed, stretching my arms above my head, his dress shirt riding up my stomach as I yawned. Marcello’s eyes darted up and down the length of my body, and he licked his lips. Ignoring his heated gaze, I sauntered over to the desk and poured myself a cup of coffee with my back to him.
“We leave in one hour.”
I added cream and sugar and spun around, sipping from my cup. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you shopping. Get whatever you need while we’re out.”
“Am I a prisoner or a guest in this house?”
“A guest.”
“Can I drive myself to get coffee and buy art supplies?”
He shook his head. “Your doctor hasn’t cleared you to drive.”
Damn. I was hoping I could get my driving privileges back now that I was in Devil’s Creek. Not like my doctors in Haven would know.
“I need to work,” I said as I moved toward the bed. “You can’t force me to live here and do nothing all day.”
“You can use my mother’s studio… if you behave yourself.”
My frown turned into a grin. “Really?”
He dropped into his usual armchair by the window. “If you stop asking so many questions and don’t give me shit.”
“I’m hungry.” Holding my coffee in one hand, I rubbed my belly with the other. “Think we can stop somewhere to eat?”
Marcello removed his cell phone from his pocket and clicked buttons, his eyes on the screen. “Answer the door when they knock.”
“I didn’t tell you what I want to eat.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, and continued typing on his phone. “You eat wheat toast with butter and raspberry jam every morning. And you take your coffee with extra cream and three sugars. I know everything there is to know about you, Alex.”
The Salvatores knew way too much about me. It was fucking creepy as hell. I wondered what they did with the secrets of their enemies. Did they hold them over their head as they did to my grandfather, or did they expose them?
I didn’t care about any of my secrets. But Pops… and Aiden. Did my brother owe them a debt he could never repay? If he were dead, the police would have uncovered his body by now. He was alive. I could feel it in my bones.
A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door. A man handed me a tray and walked away without a word. I sat at the writing desk and buttered a slice of wheat toast, topping it with a heaping spoonful of jam before stuffing it into my mouth.
Marcello locked onto me with his usual stern expression as I bit into the first slice of toast.
“You should smile. It wouldn’t kill you.”
He pressed his lips tighter. “It might.”
Leaning back in his chair, he ignored me. He acted as if he hadn’t climbed into bed with me to pull me from my nightmare. Like this was a normal thing we did.