Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
It takes about an hour to snake our way through traffic.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Rafe growls as he pulls in behind an ambulance. Cops and another ambulance block the street, their lights flashing.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Carmine rolls down his window and waves to one of the police officers. “Hi there. We have an appointment with Mr. McCarthy in this building.”
“Not today, you don’t,” the cop replies.
“Well, I guess we’ll try to meet with him somewhere else, then.”
“Nah, man. McCarthy’s dead. I can’t tell you more than that, except it sounds like he was into some bad shit.”
“Well, damn.” Carmine shakes his head. “Thanks for the information. We’ll get out of your way.”
Rafe puts the vehicle in reverse and, within seconds, we’re driving away from the scene.
“I’m making some calls,” Carmine says as he taps his phone. We listen to his side of the conversation, and when he hangs up, he drags his hand down his face. “Sounds like McCarthy has been threatening more than Annika. He was in deep with a sex trafficking ring, pissed off more people than he could count, and someone finally killed him early this morning.”
“Beat us to it,” Rafe says grimly. “Fucking pisses me off.”
“At least, he’s dead,” Nadia says.
“I guess we’re headed back to Denver,” Ivie adds.
* * *
Knowing that the asshole responsible for my harassment is gone and can’t do it to anyone else is a relief. And yet, the trip was oddly anticlimactic.
We’re in the plane again, headed back home. Ivie and Shane have their heads together at a table, talking low and intimately.
Carmine and Nadia sit on the couch across from me, both quiet. Carmine’s reading on his iPad, and Nadia has her eyes closed, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.
They look cozy. Sweet.
In love.
I’ve had some bad moments of jealousy over the past several months when it comes to my cousin being able to marry the man she loves. After all, she fell in love with Carmine, the eldest son of Carlo Martinelli, and her father, my uncle, gave her his blessing to wed.
Though just over a decade ago, Uncle Igor made me leave Rafe behind because the Martinellis were not to be trusted and were off-limits for us.
Why did he make me break up with Rafe, someone I loved so much? We weren’t hurting anyone. And then, so many years later, allow his daughter to marry the eldest of the Martinelli sons?
It feels…wrong.
I shift my gaze to Rafe, only to find him watching me with calm, blue eyes. He sips his coffee, lounging in his seat, his gray Henley shirtsleeves pushed up on his forearms where muscles twitch and move as he takes another sip from his white mug.
I want him. I want him more than anything in the world. Always have. I was once told that it was impossible because of our family trees.
Obviously, things have changed there. Nadia has Carmine, and Ivie has Shane. It’s true that Ivie isn’t related to us by blood, but she’s as much a part of the Tarenkov family as I am.
Holding Rafe’s gaze, I take a deep breath.
Yes, I want him. And while I may be damaged goods, I have to at least try to be with him damn it.
* * *
“Thanks for the ride home,” I say as I unlock the door and let us into the big, horrible house that I still live in. “I appreciate it. I’m sorry we all had to go so far just to find out that someone beat us to the punch.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Rafe says. “Stay down here. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the house to make sure everything is secure.”
“I’m sure—”
“Just please stay here,” he says again and takes off up the stairs.
I blow out a breath and hurry over to the liquor cabinet, pouring myself a shot of vodka and slinging it back. I need some liquid courage for what I’m about to do. God, I’m nervous. I’ve always been able to say anything to Rafe. Anything at all. But something tells me he’s not prepared for what’s about to come out of my mouth.
“It looks like nothing has been disturbed since we left,” he says as he hurries down the steps.
“Am I too damaged for you to love me?” I blurt out, needing to just get the words out of my head.
He stops cold and stares at me with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. After everything that’s happened, you know exactly what I went through with that idiot I refuse to name. And now that you know, are you disgusted? Does it ruin everything we might have been to each other?”
“No.” He crosses to me and drags his knuckles down my cheek. “No, honey. What happened wasn’t your fault. When you cried out in your sleep, and I came to your room…God, was that just last night? Anyway, when you talked in your sleep, it nearly tore my heart out. You said you were damaged goods and that I’d never love you.”