Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Isn’t it? You were running away last night.” His eyes glance over toward where Luca’s standing with his men, watching carefully. “Your husband doesn’t look happy right now. Maybe he’s worried you’re about to run off again.”
“My husband is an asshole, but he knows I’m not going anywhere. But please, one question, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
Peter looks impatient, but Yiannis gestures. “Go ahead.”
“Who killed my father and brothers?”
Yiannis’s eyebrows raise. “The Italians took credit.”
“Taking credit and actually planting the bomb are two different things. My father was obsessively paranoid to a fault. There’s no way the Italians could’ve snuck a bomb on board of his yacht, and besides, the Valverde Famiglia doesn’t have much of a presence in Greece. That’s why the war’s been fought mostly in America. But how did they suddenly get a bomb on a yacht all the way out in Crete?”
Yiannis glances at his son, who stands there without saying a word. Both men seem uncomfortable, and Yiannis doesn’t reply for a long pause, before finally saying, “You make good points.”
“I only want to know one thing. Is it possible that the Italians didn’t do it?”
“Yes, it’s possible,” Yiannis says, “but—”
“It’s extremely unlikely,” Peter finishes for him. The younger man glares at me darkly. “Why would they take credit if it wasn’t them? If you’re looking for some excuse to justify staying with that Italian pig, you’re sniffing around in the wrong place. Maybe they didn’t kill your father, but they’ve killed enough of your cousins and soldiers and countrymen that you should be trying to strangle Luca Valverde every time you lie down in his bed. But I suppose you’re too busy taking his Italian dick—”
I stare at him in surprise. Yiannis hisses for his son to be quiet, but Peter only climbs into the car and shuts the door. I feel dizzy and knocked off balance by the sudden vitriol, and Yiannis sighs apologetically.
“My son lost friends,” he explains, and I can understand, but the way he spoke to me was unacceptable. If that’s how the Greeks treat their women, I’m glad I never married one.
“Everyone has lost someone in this war.”
“There’s a reason we decided to take your husband up on his offer. A big part of this deal revolves around you staying in this marriage, Kacia Valverde. Before you start listening to my son, remember that there are many people still alive, and they’d like to stay that way. You can ensure this war is finished for good.”
He climbs into the car and I watch as they drive off.
Luca appears at my elbow. “What did you ask them?” he says, his hand touching my arm. I figured he’d eavesdrop, but maybe my husband trusts me more than I realized.
I let his fingers linger on my skin. “I asked if you killed my family. They said it’s possible that you didn’t.”
“Are you satisfied now?”
I turn toward him, not sure what I feel. Some part of me still doesn’t believe his story, and some part of me doesn’t care. He killed Perico, he pulled that trigger himself—that’s as bad or worse than his family planting the bomb that blew up my brothers and father. He has a lot to atone for regardless of whether it was the Italians who destroyed that yacht or if it was someone else—Luca is still a monster.
But Yiannis’s words resonate deep in my chest. There are a lot of people still alive, and we can bring this war to a complete end. Hell, we can even reverse some of the damage, or at least help enrich the Greeks again by entering into this mutually beneficial agreement. A lot of my countrymen will prosper, and even though Peter thinks I’m just some Greek whore taking Italian dick, at least I’m doing something to help my people.
All I have to do is stay married to this man.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied,” I say softly, staring into his eyes, and my gaze drifts down to his lips. I shiver, thinking about what he can do with that mouth. “How am I supposed to move on knowing that you killed at least one person I loved?”
“I can’t answer that for you.”
“Are you sorry?” I step closer. “Do you at least feel some remorse?”
His eyes stare into mine, so dark and deep and passionate. “No,” he says.
Something in me cracks. I want to sob, but I keep myself together. I’m never going to get the Luca I want. He’s never going to get down on his knees and beg for my forgiveness, because he doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He killed the Butcher of Rhodes, not the old man that cared for me as I grew up in a difficult and painful household, the old man that loved me as I grew older, the only person that took care of me after my father and brothers died. Perico was a monster to him—but Perico was a parent to me.