Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
"Don't even." I point my finger at him. "I'm safe, not even a scratch. Besides, Warren, we were always meant to be. It would have only been a matter of time before we came together. I eventually would have wanted to leave. To have a life, and it would have forced your hand."
"I wouldn't have let you leave." That was my initial thought. His father only moved things along.
"I'm in this life. I wasn't born into it, but—”
"You were born into it," Warren cuts in.
"I guess? My dad has worked for your family, I think, for most of his life."
"That's not what I mean." I scoot back a few inches. Warren grabs my hips, halting me in place.
"I'm not trying to get away, but you're talking about my parents and stalling on whatever this is you don't want to tell me."
"My father saved you. You were only a few weeks old when your birth parents were killed." I stare at him, trying to process what he's saying. "The Russo family had been slaughtered. Everyone except for you. Dario found you still asleep in your crib. He took you."
"Holy shit," I whisper as what Warren is saying begins to come together in my mind.
"He wasn't sure what to do with you, but your father had been working for him for years at this time. My father knew your parents had struggled to have kids, so he gave you to them."
"This is why you asked me about Z, how I felt?"
He nods. "I'm so sorry, little mouse."
"This is a lot to process." Warren gives me another solemn nod. "I'm not mad."
"You're upset?"
"I don't know. It's a lot, like I said, but upset?" I shake my head. "Not for me, really. I love my parents. Even if these birth parents were alive, they wouldn't be my parents. Besides—" I give him a smile, wanting to reassure him. "I am where I'm supposed to be. I want a life with you. I don't want to think about that not being a possibility."
"Always so sweet." Warren's hand cups my cheek. I lean into his touch.
"You need this sweet," I tease.
"I do," he agrees, returning my smile.
"Let's not tell my parents that I know, for now at least. I would like to know where I came from. Who the Russo family was."
“I will see what I can find. I want to do it my way. Not through my father.”
“I trust you to do whatever needs to be done.”
Maybe I should be more upset, but today showed me how easy it can be to lose everything. All the people I love are by choice, and I wouldn't change that for anything in this world.
“I do have one more secret when it comes to you.”
"There's more?" I laugh. We both jerk our attention toward the bedroom door, hearing a bang followed by a groan. Warren lifts me off his lap, sitting me down next to him. He reaches under the table in front of us, coming up with a gun in his hand.
"Who put that fucking table there?" We hear grumbled a second before the double bedroom doors fly open and Z comes tumbling in. Warren relaxes when he sees it’s him, setting the gun on the table and standing up. "Why are you in my room?" He turns and points back through the doors. "Did you put that table there?"
"This isn't your room," Warren tells him.
Z is three sheets to the wind, and I don't need to see the bottle of whiskey in his hand to know that.
"Are you sure?" He lifts the bottle, taking a giant sip. “Where’s Cosima?”
“Let’s get you back to your room.” Warren motions for him to go.
“Where’s Cosima?” Z repeats.
“Let’s go find her.”
“I’ll find her.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. It slips from his fingers. “Shit.” Z leans down to pick it up, spilling some of his whiskey.
“Have you ever seen him like this before?” I whisper to Warren, who gives a stiff shake of his head.
“What the fuck is wrong with this?” Z turns, leaving the bedroom. Warren goes after him. I jump up from the couch to see that they’ve stopped in the hallway. Z put his bottle of whiskey down on the accent table. All of his attention is on his phone. He’s angrily tapping at it.
Warren glances back toward me, shaking his head again.
“How about we get you—”
“It’s not working.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey and throws it at the opposite wall; it shatters, startling me.
“Don’t move,” Warren orders me. I had no plans to. In fact, I take a step back so he knows I won’t. “The hell is wrong with you?” He heads for Z. Please don’t fight, I silently pray in my mind. There’s been enough excitement for one day.
“You know, you know, and you fucking let her go on the shopping trip.” Z steps into Warren, getting in his face. Warren is quiet for a long moment.