Silent Whisper by Andrea Smith Page A

sticks?
    The more glasses of wine I downed, the more it became fuctperly clear!
    Fact: I was still a slut—just a higher paid one.
    Fact: I had allowed myself to fall in love—yes LOVE with a mobster from the mob. (Wait—is that redundant?)
    Fact: Lana had every right to call me out like she did. I was a stupid, stupid, idiot. (And don’t forget—a SLUT to boot!)
    Fact: If Nick (yeah, I’m calling him Nick now) cheated on his wife, why would I be naïve enough to think he didn’t cheat on me?
    Fuzzy Fact: If a married man cheats on his mistress I don’t think that actually qualifies as cheating.
    And right before I finished the last of the wine one last fact occurred to me.
    I LOVED THE MOTHERFUCKER!
    That’s right. No amount of alcohol in my system changed that. And as much as I wished that it had, the fact remained that I loved and was in love with him.
    I was totally at his mercy. I only prayed that when we next saw one another, I was stone cold sober because right now? Yeah, you guessed it; I’d be putty in his hands, the sweat on his balls, and the fucking lint on his lapel.
    Does that make sense?
    Oh what the fuck.
    @#!$%$#!&^!!@!
    (hiccup…)

c h a p t e r 14
    Somehow I had managed (in my drunken stupor) to shower in an attempt to sober up which really wasn’t all that effective. I found a pair of silk tap pants and a camisole and threw them on, not realizing until I had dressed myself that the camisole was on backwards.
    Oh what the fuck ever.
    I climbed into my bed, leaving one foot planted firmly on the carpeted floor to keep me grounded. Yes, I had heard that would keep the room from spinning and ultimately, me from heaving. I hoped that it was true.
    I had finally fallen into a relatively calm sleep when the banging of my front door downstairs hitting the wall of the living room caused me to wake up immediately.
    Holy shit.
    Moments later, the overhead light in my bedroom illuminated and there stood a very beautiful, very tanned, and very pissed-off Dominic Castellano.
    “What the hell?” I asked, my eyes glinting up at him.
    “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he demanded, his eyes flashing a darker shade of brown. “I am absolutely furious with you at the moment. You will not humiliate me, Karlie! Do you understand this?”
    “What are you talking about, Nick?” I asked, trying to clear my head, as I struggled to prop myself up on my elbows. I didn’t miss the eyebrow quirk he gave when I referred to him as ‘Nick.’
    “I’m talking about the little phone conversation you had this afternoon when a business contact of mine called West End looking for me.”
    Uh oh.
    “Oh business contact was it?” I replied with a bit of cockiness in my tone. “Is that what you’re calling them these days?”
    His brow knitted in confusion, but only momentarily.
    “Explain yourself, Karlie. Now.”
    I sat up in bed, brushing my hair back from my face. “She mentioned she was at Fire Island. I haven’t heard a word from you in over two weeks; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’ve moved on.”
    I launched myself from the bed, and padded towards the bathroom. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him at the moment. I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed my mouth out. I hadn’t realized that Dominic had followed me in until I saw him behind me in the mirror.
    “You’ve been drinking,” he deadpanned.
    “Yeah, no shit,” I remarked, drying my face. “So now what? Are you gonna move her in here? How much time do I have before I’m formally evicted Nick?”
    He frowned at me, leaning back against my shower, with his tanned muscular arms folded in front of him. He shook his head back and forth, his mouth a grim line. He wasn’t pleased.
    At all.
    “Apparently you think so little of me that you’ve contrived this bullshit in your mind and convinced yourself it’s the truth. Is that about right?”
    He was waiting for a response but I didn’t have one to give.
    “The