Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 59176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
There are no bags. He looks fucking magnificent. But seeing the spark of annoyance flicker in his eyes is worth the dig.
“What do you want, Nadia?”
“We’re working together, remember?” I shrug a shoulder and open a jar of green olives. I didn’t lie about being hungry. I’m suddenly starving.
“Given that I haven’t heard a peep from you since the wedding, I figured you’d blown that off.”
“A peep?” I snicker and chew on another olive. “You’re cute, Carmine.”
He huffs out a breath of annoyance.
I love ruffling his feathers.
“Anyway, I thought I’d come to Seattle and see you. Find out what you know.”
“I’m working on some leads.”
I nod slowly. “What kind of leads?”
“Rumors. Making calls.”
“The mafia is good at keeping secrets, aren’t they?” I shake my head and close the food containers back up, then return it all to the fridge. “Bastards put a lot of bullshit in this world, but when it comes to covering their tracks, they’re damn good at it.”
“What do you know?” he asks.
“I did get a call when I got off the plane,” I admit and walk over to him. I brush my finger down the buttons of his white shirt. “I always did like looking at you in these white button-downs.”
He catches my hand in his and pushes me away.
“What did the caller say?”
The rebuff hurts my feelings more than expected—and more than it should. But I keep my face schooled in the sneer I’ve worn since I arrived.
“A new chemical’s being passed around,” I say casually. “It’s lethal. Highly addictive. And in large quantities, can cause seizures and foaming at the mouth.”
“Who—?”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I say smoothly. “And you know it. That’s all I know for now. I really should go. I’ll be in touch.”
I march away from him before I do something monumentally stupid, like strip him naked and suck his cock.
Carmine has a grade-A penis.
And it’s off-limits.
“Have a good day.”
“Wait,” he says as he hurries after me. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be around.”
“Nadia.”
“Goodbye, Carmine.”
I hop in the car and zoom away from his house.
I’m not good at emotions. I’m excellent at keeping myself aloof. Cold, even. I don’t mind being called the ice princess at all. Because when emotions get tangled up in business, you die.
And I’m not ready to meet Satan yet. Or, should I say, he’s not ready for me?
I don’t like that I feel things when I’m around Carmine. It’s purely physical.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I mutter as I drive toward the freeway.
I knew the several months I spent with Carmine were a lie. He didn’t love me, and I certainly didn’t love him. We were merely playing house. Manipulating each other.
But we also had fun. We laughed a lot. We got along well. And the sex…
Well, let’s not go there.
I enjoy him. And that’s the part that annoys the hell out of me. Because he’s a Martinelli, and my father told me when I was thirteen that anyone with that name was off-limits.
Nothing has changed in that regard.
So, I’ll do as my father asked and keep an eye on Carmine, but I’ll also keep my distance.
For my fucking sanity.
Because I’m going to be the next boss. My brother doesn’t have the chops—he’s too selfish, too immature.
I can’t stand him.
I’m the one who studied at my father’s knee since I was a child. I’m the one who pays attention and does as she’s told.
And I’m often overlooked because I’m a woman.
But that won’t stop me.
I’ll do my job here and continue proving to my father that I’m the one who should step up after he’s gone.
* * *
The hotel just wasn’t cutting it. Too many people were in and out. Too many eyes. I know that Carmine has eyes on me, but I was making it too easy on him.
So, I checked out two days ago and secured a vacation rental by owner, a VRBO, instead. I used my father’s assistant to make the reservation, so my name’s nowhere on the application.
I like being anonymous. Carmine wasn’t wrong. My family owns the condo I live in just outside of Atlanta, and my name isn’t on that one either. I don’t want anyone to trace me back to any holdings. I want to be mysterious.
It’s hard for the bad guys to find you if they can’t figure out where you live.
Not that they didn’t find me anyway, I muse, rubbing a hand over the rib that still sometimes gives me fits.
I haven’t heard anything on the drug thing for days. I’m basically just sitting in Seattle, twiddling my thumbs. I could do this from anywhere.
But Papa wants me here.
I blow out a breath and shut my laptop. I’ve been calling in favors and making calls, and I’m going nowhere fast. It’s like I’m two inches away from getting the information I need, but then it gets tugged just out of my reach.