The Thrilling Conclusion to the Ruthlessly Obsessed Duet!
Since our divorce, my ex-husband has morphed into one of the most powerful crime bosses on the eastern seaboard. He’s not someone you want to cross, and I did a good job of avoiding him for five whole years.
But then I lied to him.
When he caught me in that lie, I admitted it. Finally told him the truth.
And he immediately made me his prisoner.
Because Luca Ferraro doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t forget. And as far as he’s concerned, revenge is best served twice.
But I’m going to get out of his prison. I am determined to escape.
I just don’t know if I’ll be able to get away with my heart intact. Or my soul.
Yeah, I think it’s pretty safe to say… Worst Divorce Ever.
READER WARNING: This is a second chance romance gone dark. DO NOT finish this tale of ruthless love and obsession unless you are fully prepared for a hero who will stop at nothing to get his ex-wife back. Bring some tissue and some cuss words, and don’t ever say we didn’t warn you.Books by Author:Theodora Taylor Books
Mean To Me
"What does everything else mean""
Cold granite silence. Then"
"Everything else means you"re coming with me."
My stomach drops. I"m not disabled"that"s what I always insist when I"m invited to speak at schools, classrooms, and programs for the blind. If anything, I tell them, the loss of my sight has made me more ambitious, more intelligent, and more confident than I would have otherwise been if it had remained. Stronger. My blindness has made me stronger than I could have ever hoped to be otherwise. It"s a very inspiring speech.
But Luca has rendered me completely powerless in the blink of a sightless eye. My three years of law school, five years of martial arts training, and six years of occupational therapy all became useless at his negotiation table. Pointless talents that might as well have never been cultivated at all.
He"s no longer the vengeful boy who couldn"t let go of what my father did to him. Now, he"s a ruthless don. And in the end, there"s no real negotiation between us. Only Luca"s display of absolute power.
"You"re going to get up now and walk calmly out of this house to my car," he informs me as this new reality sinks into my brain. And clever as I usually am, I just can"t come up with a rebuttal to his order. At least not one that won"t put my best friend"s life in danger.
A few minutes after his pronouncement, I find myself in Luca"s backseat. Again. It could be a different car. I"m sure he"s racked up several by now. But I"ve got a sick scene of the crime feeling in the pit of my stomach as we drive off, some "yeah, you fucked up, girl" sixth sense tells me this is the same backseat where we had sex a little over five months ago.
But I"d die before asking him to confirm that suspicion. "Where"s Naima"" I ask instead.
"Why isn"t she here""
"What did you do with her"" I demand in my best courtroom voice.
But that question gets answered the same as the others. With a big ball of silence.
He"s also not wearing cologne today, and I can"t even hear him breathing beside me, no matter how much I strain my ears. It"s like sitting next to a statue, emitting nothing but concrete silence as the driver"who didn"t bother to introduce himself this time"ferries us to someplace unknown. Stop and go city streets, intermixed with the short glides and slows of highways. Eventually, we come to a stop.
"This is where you get off," Luca tells me.
Before I can respond the car door opens and a voice says, "Hey, Amber, it"s Rock. I"m going to help you out of the car now."
Either Rock"s good with the visually impaired or he read up. Like a perfectly trained boy scout, he places a hand at my elbow before clasping my palm to help me out of the backseat. Then he keeps his hand right below my elbow as he guides me forward.
Though nothing"s been explained to me, I sense we"re in Manhattan based on the late morning quiet of the street I step onto with Rock, and the lack of accent, foreign or New York, from the doorman who lets us into the building with a cheery good morning.
We walk into a lobby, hushed, cool, and crisp. It smells like a modern construction project to me, thoroughly insulated and without any of the musty damp grandma"s attic smell that most of the 20th-century buildings in New York carry.
Rock guides me to an elevator that goes up and up and up for an impossible number of floors. So, either it"s slow, or I"m in a skyscraper. I get the feeling it"s the latter when the doors open on what turns out to be the apartment itself. My mobility cane plinks against marble floors. The real kind, I guess from the dense sound when my stick strikes it. Not the cheaper, plastic laced stuff that"s so popular these days.
"There"s a set of winding stairs coming up," Rock informs me a few steps into the apartment. "We won"t both fit, so you"ll need to hold on to the handlebar""
"Where"s Naima," I demand, interrupting his helpful tip. "I want to be taken to her. Make sure she"s safe."
A dull electronic thrum interrupts Rock"s answer. Fabric rustles as he pulls his phone out, and then comes a heavy sigh. "I have to take this. She"s already up in her room. First door past the stairs on your right. I"ll let you go alone, but keep in mind, there"s only one way out of this apartment, and we"ve got a guard at both the bottom of the stairs and the elevator 24/7."
Way over my daily limit for threats, I walk away from his warning, and carefully navigate my way up the tricky stairs. But as soon as I reach the landing, all precaution disappears. I rush to the right, swinging my cane until I hit a door.