Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
She had never called that number. Dropping it into the top drawer, she slammed it closed.
She climbed out of bed, used the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and ignored her hair. Then she made her bed and went straight to the kitchen. Making herself a strong cup of coffee, she stepped into the sewing room and lowered herself into her mother’s favorite chair.
Two years.
How had it been two years?
Adele had twenty-one years with her mother. Now she was twenty-three years old. Tears filled her eyes, and she tried her hardest to ignore them.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said.
She took a sip of her coffee and allowed the tears to fall. In the back of her mind, she could see her mother telling her not to cry. To be strong.
“I am strong, but I don’t know why he’s doing this.”
Just as she was about to take another sip of coffee, the doorbell rang. Checking the time, she saw it was a little after seven. Adele had always been a light sleeper, and she also didn’t need much sleep. So, even though she arrived home at one o’clock this morning, was in bed by half past, she was wide and awake by six.
She held her coffee as she walked to the door and checked through the peephole to see that it was Enzo on her doorstep.
“I hear you,” Enzo said.
“You do realize that you’re entering stalking territory right now?” She refused to open the door.
“I want to talk to you.”
“No.”
“We can talk on your doorstep or I can break down your door. If you think this is going to keep me out, you’re mistaken.”
“Don’t you dare!” She looked through the peephole and sure enough, he started to tense, giving her no choice but to open the door. “Are you completely insane?”
“Do you open the door in your pajamas to everyone?”
She glanced down at her clothes. They were homemade pajamas, and they had little doggies on them, which she absolutely loved.
“No, but no one arrives at seven in the morning. Not even delivery drivers.”
She released a growl as he pushed past her, entering her home. “I didn’t invite you in!”
“I’m not a vampire, I don’t need a special invite.”
“Did no one ever teach you common courtesy?” she asked.
Adele had no choice but to close the door, and then turn toward him. Why did he have to make her home feel so small? Enzo was not a small man, and the corridor suddenly seemed so tiny.
“I got taught everything I needed to know to get what I want.”
“So, you were taught to be rude.” She shook her head. There was no way she was going into her sewing room. This man was just … infuriating. She didn’t like him one bit.
She went straight to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Her mother had instilled in her to be nice, so she offered him a cup of coffee.
“Is it as bad as the scotch you gave me last night?” he asked.
“A simple yes or no will suffice, and I only gave you what you asked for.”
“Is that all the scotch you offer?” Enzo asked.
“Yes, it is.”
Bishop refused to splash out on expensive scotch, he said his customers rarely tasted the stuff anyway, so it was pointless to give them anything decent. Adele wasn’t going to argue with the boss, and besides, most men that wanted the scotch had already had several glasses of beer.
Pouring out the coffee, she turned and offered him cream, milk, or sugar. He declined everything but asked for two spoonfuls of sugar.
She liked her coffee black, with no sugar.
Handing him the coffee, she went back to her own, and took a sip. Enzo seemed so out of place in the small kitchen.
He took a sip and nodded. “Not bad.”
She didn’t care if he liked it or not. She wanted him out of the house.
“What do you want?”
“I told you what I want.”
“You can’t be serious. Doesn’t a capo like you need some kind of woman with a name or something?”
“You don’t have your father’s name.”
“Stating the obvious,” she said. Seeing as her mother and father weren’t married. Carla had given her the option when she turned sixteen to take her father’s name, or not.
No.
Hell, no.
She was never going to be a Bianchi.
Adele had already started to hate her father, and nothing was going to change that. Not taking a name, not trying to be part of his world. None of it. She lived her life the way she wanted, not being dictated to by him.
“Are you not curious about your father?” Enzo asked.
She stopped and glanced down at her coffee. It was nearly all gone. Was she curious about him? No. She hadn’t been curious about him for a long time.
“No,” she said.
“You know he sent me here.”
“So?”
Enzo released a breath. “You have no idea how important you are to him, do you?”