Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
When her eyes rocket to the left, so do mine. The reason for her abrupt silence is understandable when I spot who’s entering my room.
The devil is walking the halls, seeking new victims.
“Leave.” When the head nurse attempts to tell my father they haven’t finished dressing my wounds, he shouts so loud, even through the bandages curled around my head and the hearing disability he gave me, the vibration of his threat vibrates my eardrums. “Leave of your own accord or in a body bag. The choice is yours.”
The head nurse charges out of the room like her ass is on fire. It takes me wordlessly convincing the younger of the two that I’ll be fine before she shakily steps past my father, then disappears into the corridor.
After closing the door, my father unhurriedly stalks to my half of the room. Although the scrub of his jaw almost has me missing what he mumbles under his breath, the disdain in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
The wrong Petretti child perished tonight.
He wants me dead, and when my eyes lock onto the official-looking document in his hand, I understand why. It’s the will I had drawn up when Dimitri and Roberto followed our father’s footsteps instead of our mother’s. The declaration that says the millions of dollars I’m set to inherit in only a few short weeks will be solely awarded to Ophelia in the event of my death.
“S-She wouldn’t have g-given you a dime,” I mutter out fearlessly since the only person I was living for is no longer here.
The groove between my father’s brows deepens before he finds a way to soothe his anguish. He stabs his pointy nail into the goop coating my back before he treks his finger over the grooves in my spine.
“I know,” he mouths while taking in the redness on my face from holding in my screams. The pain is excruciating, but I’ll never let him know that. “That’s why I had plans in place to fix that.” When his finger reaches the top of my spine, he adds another three fingers into the mix before dragging his hand back down to my tail bone. “But you took care of matters for me.”
I’m lost as to what he means until I see the smugness in his eyes. “I-I wasn’t driving. The a-accident wasn’t my fault.”
“I know,” he repeats again, still smirking. “But with the rag used to light the wreck covered with your DNA from the fight and the gasoline tin having your prints on it, as far as everyone around here is concerned, you killed your sister. Your baby sister.”
“W-why would anyone believe that? I had n-no reason to kill her.”
My last word comes out in a roar from him ripping my ear out from beneath the bandage curled around my head. Although the words he growls into my ear have me grateful I’m not fully deaf, they’re devastating enough for me to wish I were. “Isaac was meant to kill you, then during a heated argument with the sister of the man he murdered, he’d lash out violently, resulting in the death of two of my beloved children in the one night.” He inches back, his facial expression less than impressed. “Instead, he left you to live the life of a coward. One that saw your only sister so frantic to save you, she was murdered in the process.”
“I-It was a traffic accident. An a-accident isn’t murder.”
“Some jurors may believe that.” He exhales sharply. “But a handful will clutch onto the DA’s belief that you instigated the accident after finding out she’d siphoned your bank account of millions of dollars. Their wish to watch you fry will soon convince the masses.”
“You’re insane! Ophelia couldn’t h-have taken my money. I don’t even have a-access to the funds yet.”
Your life expectancy in this industry is already low, but mine lowers even more when my father thrusts a sheet of paper my way. It shows multiple transactions under ten thousand dollars being wired from the account the Feds set up on my behalf to Ophelia’s personal bank account.
Every penny is obliterated, leaving me broke.
The document looks so authentic, for half a nanosecond, I remember how badly Ophelia wanted out of our family.
Mercifully, just as fast, I remember she’s more like me than Roberto and Dimitri.
“She w-wouldn’t have done that. S-She wanted out, but she wouldn’t have h-hurt me like this.”
“She did hurt you,” my father disagrees. “And it created the perfect motive for you to kill her.” His snicker belongs to an evil, vile man. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, this all could have been avoided. All you had to do was share your wealth, then your sister wouldn’t have stolen from you, and you wouldn’t have killed her in retaliation—”
“I didn’t kill her! You…”