Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Normally, you’re right, but I don’t want to fuck this one up.”
Luca seems thoughtful as he matches my pace back outside. I expect him to chew into me, and he’d be right to. Weddings are important, but this depot break-in is absolutely huge.
“You like the girl, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “It’s not her.”
“No? I guess you’re rushing back to your wedding for some other reason then?”
“I liked the food.”
“There’s no shame in liking your wife. Honestly, most of the time, it’s encouraged.”
“She’s a responsibility.” I open my truck door. “Just like what happened in there. I’ll find whoever did it, Luca. I’ll get back whatever they took. And I’ll make sure the whole fucking city knows they can’t fuck with our Famiglia like that again.” I meet his gaze and hold it. “I promise you that.”
“I believe you.” He seems amused as he pats the hood of my truck. “Tell the new wife I said hello and send my apologies. Somebody’s got to clean this up tonight.”
I start the engine. Right now, it’ll be him.
But in the morning?
This shitstorm’s going to be all mine.
Chapter 13
Charlie
Icarefully cover a vintage radio in bubble wrap and lower it into a box.
All around me, my little apartment in the Westwood Manor house is a total mess. Things are strewn across the floor. My clothes are heaped in haphazard piles in my bedroom, and books are thrown into hastily constructed towers. One wrong move, and I’m pretty sure a storm of them is going to bury me.
Not that I’d mind.
Killed by reading material? Not the worst way to go.
Despite everything, I didn’t think this day would come. Even after I walked down the aisle, put the ring on my finger, and said all the vows, somehow, I never really believed that Grandfather would make me move out.
Except the day after the wedding, when I woke up in my own bed with the taste of my husband still on my lips, I found a note in my grandfather’s messy handwriting waiting in my living room.
Pack your things. You’re leaving tomorrow.
There’s no arguing with a piece of paper. There’s no reasoning with it, begging it, pleading with it. Paper doesn’t give a crap what you think, much less what it says. There’s a reason Grandfather’s little notes are so famous.
Once an order arrives on paper, there’s no turning back.
There’s a light knock at the door. I look up, frowning. “Come in,” I call out.
Emily pokes her head inside. She blinks at the state of my place. “Ah, I was, um, sent to help if you needed it—” She clears her throat and steps inside. “Looks like you do.”
I groan and slump forward. “I have about fifty boxes, ten garment bags, a dozen high-end suitcases, and that’s still not enough space.” I stare at her, feeling grim and empty and scared. “How am I supposed to fit my entire life in them?”
She chews her lip a moment. Emily always seems so squirrelly and small. But this time, instead of shrinking back, she seems to grow a little bigger. “It’s a matter of organization.”
“What now?”
“All this.” She gestures at my piles of mental illness. “Just organization. Think about it like Tetris.”
“Sure, right, just gotta—” I move my hands around as if trying to make shapes fit. “Then bang, everything’s okay.”
“I can’t really help with the okay part.” She sinks down next to me and lightly puts a hand on mine. Her fingers are warm and soft, and her big eyes blink up at me with genuine empathy. “But I can help with the packing.”
It’s startling. I can’t remember the last time someone was straight up kind to me in this place.
“Thank you,” I say and clear my throat. “I’m sorry about all this. You’re not really seeing me at my best.”
“I’ve been working here for two years.” She springs up to her feet and brushes her hands on her thighs. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Don’t doubt it,” I mutter, trying to picture what it must be like to serve at Grandfather’s door. Better not to know. “Where do we start?”
“Bedroom. We’ll work outward.” She holds up a finger and gives me a stern look. “But we’re not taking everything. You’re going to make some hard decisions, Ms. Westbrook.”
“Call me Charlie.” I look lovingly down at a porcelain cow in my lap. “I don’t do well with hard decisions.”
“Then you’re lucky I’m here. My mother always said, Emily, sometimes you just gotta rip off the bandage. That’s how I live my life.”
“Sounds weirdly terrible?”
“It’s practical. It’s why I’ve survived your grandfather for so long.” A smile appears on her lips. “He’s not an easy employer.”
“I’m pretty sure two years as one of his assistants qualifies you to run an entire company all by yourself.”
“I was thinking an entire country.” She marches past me toward my bedroom. “Now, how’s it looking in here?”