Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“Because I set her up for failure.” Wolfe raised his voice, spitting in my father’s face.
“That may be, but her only value to me right now is to be a pawn against you. You see, I’ve made the mistake of undervaluing a person once in my life. When I decided to foolishly let you live.”
Something dropped between them, and it thudded against the silence of the room. Jesus. He actually said it. My father regretted not killing my husband.
“Why didn’t you?” Wolfe seethed. “Why did you let me live?”
“You were frightened, Nucci, but you were also strong. You didn’t cry. You didn’t piss your pants. You even tried to snatch one of my men’s weapons. You reminded me of my young self when I ran on the streets barefoot, stealing food, pickpocketing, and working my way up. Hustling to the core and making ties with The Outfit. I knew you had a chance to survive this part of the neighborhood. More than that—I knew you were a savage. Wolfe Keaton plays nice with the law, but let’s admit it—Fabio Nucci is inside you, and he is out for blood.”
“I will never be your ally.”
“Good. You make a fascinating enemy.”
“Whatever you need me to do, get it over with,” Wolfe barked.
My father leaned back, clucking his tongue and tapping a fist over his lip.
“If you truly love my daughter, Senator Keaton, if you sincerely care for her, you will strip from the one thing you never part ways with—your pride.”
“What are you asking?” I could practically envision Wolfe’s jaw as it locked in anger.
“Beg for her, son. Kneel.” Papa lifted his chin, somehow looking down at Wolfe despite my husband being several inches taller. “Beg like you made me beg for her when you took her from me.”
My dad begged for me?
“I do not beg,” Wolfe said, and I knew he meant it. Even my father knew better than to ask for something like this. He set Wolfe up for failure and doomed my marriage by asking that. Wolfe never bowed to anyone, much less my own father. I was going to burst in the door and set the record straight when I heard Papa speak again.
“Then you don’t love my daughter, Senator Keaton. You merely want your possession back. Because as far as I recall, she did a lot of begging and groveling when you took her from this house as your prisoner.”
I bit down on my lip, resting my forehead against the doorframe. It hurt me to see Wolfe hurting, but it pained me even more that I understood why he couldn’t do it. Why he couldn’t beg the man who had ruined his life. It wasn’t just about his pride and dignity. It was also about his morals and everything he stood for. About his family.
My father had stripped him from his pride once in front of his brother. He was not going to do it again.
“You’re not doing this because of her; you’re doing this because of you,” Wolfe accused, point-blank. My dad braced the edges of his desk behind him as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating this.
“Why I’m doing this shouldn’t matter to you. If you want her, you will stop at nothing, much less the floor.”
Tears prickled my eyes once again. My father was humiliating him, and as much as I wanted to step inside and order them both to stop this, I couldn’t. Because my father wasn’t wrong about one thing—Wolfe always held the power in my relationship with him, and if he couldn’t let go, even once, was this really a marriage, or was it a captive and master, glorified under the flattering light of lust?
Slowly, I watched to my utter shock as Wolfe began to lower himself down to his knees. I choked on my breath, unable to tear my eyes from the scene unfolding in front of me. My husband, the proud, take-no-bullshit, arrogant bastard was kneeling, begging for me. What’s more, he didn’t look an inch less superior than he did walking into this room. He tilted his face up, allowing me an angle from which I could see him clearly. He was the picture of conceited, his regal features sharp and open. His eyes were determined, his eyebrows arched in mockery, and his entire composure was unimpeachable. Based on their faces alone, you couldn’t tell which one of them was bowing down to the other.
“Arthur,” his voice boomed in the room, “I beg you, please let me talk to your daughter. My wife is, and always will be, the most important thing in my life.”
My heart burst in my chest at his words, and I quivered, feeling the heat of a thousand suns warming me from the inside.
“You will never make her happy for as long as you hang my sins over her head,” my father warned. My husband was still on his knees, and I couldn’t stop the tears anymore. They rushed down in the form of a sob. I slapped a hand over my mouth, afraid they’d hear me.