Page 24 of Brutal Vows

He straightens and shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s still in his white wedding shirt, soft cotton that shows wrinkles where I anxiously gripped at it as we rode over from the wedding venue.

Feeling his warm body under my hands, the ridges of his six-pack and muscled pecs, was too much for this newly wedded bride, totally caught off guard that her husband is basically a walking sex god. He’s staring at me, openly, and a steady blush sweeps over my body following in the invisible tracks his gaze leaves behind.

I clench my hands together, then fold my arms over my chest, protective against this novelty. No man has ever been able to trigger a swarm of tingles along my spine with one sweep of his gaze down my body.

They aren’t tingles of fear or dread. No, they are tingles of anticipation, because we’re here alone. Husband and wife. Honeymoon. Sex.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Luca heads to the door, which he opens, letting in the outside world. The tension seems to float out. “Take your time. Shall we say dinner at six? On the deck? Only if you’ve brought something warm…but don’t worry about it. We can eat inside. Or wrap you in a cozy blanket. We can watch a movie afterwards if you’d like.”

“Where’re you going?” But what I really want to know is where will he be sleeping.

“I’m in Steph’s cabin. Seems appropriate since he’s my twin. I’ll give you your space.”

With that, he walks out and closes the door behind him, not looking back once.

A twin? Nobody’s mentioned a twin. Are they identical, or just brothers conceived at the same time? And Ivan—does he even know? Probably.

With a huff, I sink to the bed and drop back to stare at the ceiling. I’m alone and it’s too good to be true. I’ve married a man who has zero expectations. The perfect gentleman. I should count my blessings, because there are monsters out there and I had no guarantees Luca Scalera wasn’t one of them.

But honestly, part of me is insulted, even somewhat offended. He didn’t even offer to help with my dress and it’s a difficult one.

Doesn’t he want me? As a woman? Not even a little bit?

I slide my hands down my body, in awe that he somehow switched on a part of me I took for dead. To be honest, I preferred it that way because I don’t matter. My needs have shifted to way down the line. Other things come first. I reach over for my purse and find my phone, burning to know if there’s word from Masha.

12

LUCA

I’m fucked.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this. Be cooped up with her for months—years—and pretend I want nothing more than something platonic. I could be an asshole and walk back into her cabin and tease her toward a taste of the pleasure we could have together, but for the first time in my fucking miserable life, I’m pressing the brakes.

It’s more than me not feeling worthy of her. It’s more than my jaded past. It’s her, and the way she looked around skittishly, clocking that we were leaving the harbor, looking into corners for cameras and other surveillance. I haven’t been trained for nothing. After Ariana, an undercover cop who breached our sacred sanctum like a Trojan horse, I’m even more alert. I know when people are searching for the nearest exit, wondering who’s watching, listening.

Milana’s more than a flight risk. She’s more than a liability in my care as my little sister’s safety is tied to hers. No, Milana is a potential threat. One we can’t eliminate.

How the fuck did we get into this situation? Manipulated, that’s how.

We have a potential spy with Gabriella in Petrov’s household, but Gabi isn’t spy material. Matteo is convinced everything is as above-board as it could be in our worlds, but for all we know, Milana is infiltrating our inner circle to steal data, figure out our weak spots, and eliminate us when the time is right.

For now, I’m standing in the passage, waiting to see if she’s going to come out and check if it’s clear. I’m not putting anything beyond my sweet Bratva princess. The dumbest thing I can do in this marriage is to underestimate my bride.

After a couple of minutes, I head up the stairs, knowing she can’t leave and jump ship unnoticed. Still, I call the steward closer and instruct him to guard the stairs while I go change.

A hot shower later, now dressed in my usual casual jeans and a T-shirt, I head out to the deck. We’re on open waters now and I breathe easy. It will be a long, cold swim, and Milana won’t do anything stupid. Well, that totally depends on her level of desperation. Petrov’s stipulation, forbidding her from ever returning to Russia, now seems like the tip of an iceberg. I have so many questions and she’s going to have to talk, sooner rather than later. I’ll bet they’ll want to keep their secrets. This might be an alliance, but nobody is going to give up information that makes them weaker to the other party.

Husband. Diplomat. Interrogator. My new exalted position in Il Consiglio’s organizational chart comes with few charms and zero benefits. Who do they need me to be now? Dominic’s alter ego?

It’s sunset by the time Milana seeks me out on the deck, her phone in hand. It feels like I’ve waited forever for her to show her face, and annoyance is creeping in. I haven’t touched my phone since the ceremony; it’s somewhere in my cabin.

She’s plaited her hair and has dressed in jeans and a light pink sweater, but with the ocean breeze, she isn’t going to be warm enough. I force my mind to shift, trying to live in the moment, or rather, imagining this is me after I left the Mafia—sailing into the sunset, with, ironically, my dream wife.

I hold my hand out to pull her down next to me, because I generate heat for free, but she ignores it, and right on cue, the steward comes over with a glass of champagne for her and two blankets.

“Dinner is ready when you are, sir,” he says.

I take the blankets from him and spread one over Milana’s legs once she’s seated. She’s managed to keep her distance. It’s for the best.