Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
That’s setting myself up for heartbreak. He’s right about that. Allegra wants freedom—and no matter what happens between us, she’s going to get it. That girl doesn’t do things halfway. She’s way too stubborn.
I don’t want to worry about that yet. Saul can fuck himself. I’ve got this under control. I’ll focus on fixing things with Allegra’s family, make her happy, help Renzo where I can, and wait for my life to settle. I’ll figure out what I want eventually. And if I don’t—
I’ll give her what I promised.
Chapter 21
Allegra
Gian dresses and heads out. “Got work,” he grunts once he’s in a slick, expensive-looking suit.
“What do you mean, work?”
“Renzo’s got some opportunities he wants me to chase down. And my family’s fighting a war. Got to pitch in.”
“Right. Okay. That makes sense.”
“Stay here. Some stuff’s getting delivered soon and I want you to look it over.”
“What stuff?” My eyebrows raise.
“You’ll see. Some of it’s for you.”
“You’re such a mystery. You realize life would be easier if you just said things straight out, right?”
“That’s not fun.” He walks to the bedroom door before glancing back at me. “You look good like that.”
“Like what?” My cheeks turn pink. I’m still in my pajamas. They’re nothing special.
“Simple. I can see your hard nipples through your shirt. And I like it when you blush.”
“Okay, great, I’ll make sure to wear a lot of heavy sweaters around you from now on.”
“If that’s what you want.” He shrugs and knocks his knuckles on the doorframe. “But you really do look good.”
Then he’s gone. What the hell was that? Random compliments are nice and all, but I can’t help thinking there’s an ulterior motive with him. After what happened between us in college, I can’t seem to start trusting him again, like he’s going to randomly screw me a second time.
Which is probably why I shouldn’t have let him go down on me last night. I mean, definitely a bad idea, completely an impulse decision. Not my finest hour in retrospect. I fully planned on suffering through the night on the guest bedroom floor, but then I heard the murder ghost wailing for my blood, and he knocked on the wall and wanted to hear me sing some more, and he told me that story about him as a kid—
And it felt good. Fine, I can admit it. It felt really, really good when he kissed me. I like touching him and I really like when he touches me. It’s fun to tease and let his hands explore my skin. He’s almost reverent in the way his fingers brush down my cheeks, down my breasts, exploring me like he wants to make every nerve ending sing. And my body reacts like crazy whenever he gets close, which is frustrating and really hard to ignore.
I don’t want to send him the wrong message. Yes, sleeping with him is fun, and yeah, he’s really good at it, but that doesn’t mean we’re more than just colleagues in a really messed-up business transaction. I get my freedom and he gets—I’m not sure what he gets yet. Maybe just the pleasure of my sparkling company. But we both get something and then it’s over. Sleeping together is going to complicate that.
No more sex stuff. He can keep his filthy mouth to himself. I’ll deal with the murder ghosts all by my lonesome in the guest bedroom.
I spend the morning getting to know the house. It’s really a charming place with lots of natural light and so much potential. Honestly, it’s almost the ideal place for me—close to my family, in a nice neighborhood, but still old and quirky, which is how I like my housing. I’m not sure how he managed to snag it, but I get a strange feeling as I think back to our conversations. The guy bought this house before we were even married, which means he’d been thinking about something like this—for how long, exactly? I wonder if I can look it up in the property records.
Curiosity gets the better of me. It’s annoying trying to navigate the county website via my phone, so I head out for a walk around the neighborhood. Since I happened to grow up in this place, it’s not hard to find the public library, and since I’ve been coming here since I was a little girl to escape the house when it felt too full of overbearing mafia asshole types, I easily grab a computer and get myself logged in. Then it’s another ten minutes before I’m staring at an old Zillow listing, my mouth pulled into a tight frown.
“That can’t be right,” I say quietly to myself and decide to check a few more places. But everywhere I look lists the same bought and sold date.
From five years ago.
Which makes no sense. Why the hell would Gian buy a house near my family five years ago? Way before we were ever taking. I barely thought about him back then, and when I did, it was never exactly positive. I wasn’t engaged to his brother, wasn’t even involved with the Rossi Famiglia at all.