Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I shrug, look her over. She’s wearing a matching silk tank and shorts set with small teapots on it. “Interesting pattern.”
She looks down. “Emma chose it. Seriously, you’re not worried about that?”
“Are you?”
“No, not at all. If he drowns tonight, that’s one down, one to go.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, and she knows it in an instant because my hand wraps around her throat and I have her pinned to the door. She stares at me wide-eyed, both hands clawing at my forearm as I squeeze.
“Don’t you ever, ever say anything like that again. Do you understand me?”
“I can’t… I…”
“Do you fucking understand?”
She blinks hard and one of her arms fall away, making me realize what I’m doing. I hear my brother’s words. The extremes she makes him feel. She brings out the worst in us is what he meant.
I release her throat and catch her just as her knees buckle. She hasn’t quite passed out but almost. I need to remember to take care with her. Need to remember how easily I can break her.
I lay her on the bed. Her body is wracked by coughs, and her eyes have grown wide with terror.
“You’re all right,” I tell her as she sits up. I rub her back.
“I’m not… Jesus. You almost killed me!” She pushes me away.
I get up and go into the bathroom to get her a glass of water. “Drink a sip.”
“Get away from me!”
“Dandelion—”
She shoves my arm, spilling most of the water.
“Vittoria.” She looks up at me, her eyes wet and red, the skin around them puffy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Not this time?”
“No, not this time.”
“Asshole.” She’s still coughing, but it’s more controlled.
“Drink.” I hold the glass to her lips, and she takes a sip to appease me.
“I drank. Go away.”
I set the water on the nightstand and study her as she pulls her knees up and refuses to look at me. I sit by her feet, taking in the chipping red polish on her toenails. It tells of her life right now. The chipping away of her normal. The ugly reality setting in.
“I don’t understand any of this, you know that?” She runs the back of one hand over her eyes. “You hate me. You both hate me, and I don’t even know you,” she says to her knees.
“You read—”
“I read what you made me read,” she spits, fiery sapphire eyes burning into mine. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know you. I didn’t hurt you or your family, and I’m so sorry that they were hurt. That you were hurt.”
Her eyes move over my scar. Does she realize that’s the least of them? That what’s on the inside is so much worse. Scar tissue thick over my heart, making it impossible to breathe. To feel anything but pain.
“But I don’t understand why I’m being made to pay. Why Emma will be made to pay.”
“I explained it, Vittoria. There’s no other way. Collateral—”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m collateral damage. Well, you know what?” she starts, and I can hear her amping up. “I don’t accept it!” She lunges at me and manages to get her hands around my neck.
I drop back onto the bed, stifling my laughter as she straddles me, and I wonder if she really thinks she’ll strangle me or subdue me somehow. She squeezes her hands around my throat. Taking hold of her forearms, I can’t help but laugh, which only pisses her off and, in turn, makes me laugh harder.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” I flip her onto her back and trap her between my thighs, spreading her arms out wide and taking care to keep my weight on my thighs.
“That was cute, Dandelion.”
“I wasn’t going for cute,” she tells me, ramming her knee into my back. We flip again, and this time, she tries to headbutt me. She manages to smash her mouth into my shoulder, and she must bite her lip when she does because it’s bleeding when she draws back, slightly dazed.
We go back and forth for a minute. I’m not sure she’s aware exactly what this is doing to me.
“Had enough?” I ask her, flipping us again.
“Have you?” she asks before, when all else fails, spitting at me. That spit lands on my cheek, which does succeed in doing one thing she wanted. It wipes the smile off my face. But her victory is short lived when our eyes meet, and she sees what’s replaced that laughter.
I wipe off the spit with the back of my hand and smear it over her cheek. I lean in close.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’ll do it a hundred times over.”
“I’m warning you—”
“No, I’m warning you, Amadeo.”
“You want to fight for real, sweetheart? You want me to get rough?”
She hesitates, but Vittoria Russo is not one to back down. I’m getting that. “Yeah, Amadeo. Get rough. That’s who you are, isn’t it? It’s what you do?”