Page 27 of Brutal Vows

I’ve never been privy to the Petrov businesses and the men in the family made sure to keep my nose out of it. What I know, I’ve read between the lines over the years, but for the rest, I’m powerless. Hands tied, always at some man’s mercy. They’ll say it’s because they want to protect you, but in a way, I’ve become a human shield, just like Gabi has. I’m so sick and tired of it.

“We have several web-based operations, some brick-and-mortar night clubs, trading, many things. You know the saying, don’t keep all your eggs in one basket.”

“You sell things online?” I say, trying to keep my mind in the game and not let my emotions get the better of me. “Like fake investments? Scams?”

Luca scoffs. “No, princess. Something a bit more legit, but I don’t really want to talk shop right now.”

He’s backing off from the discussion and now I’m doubly intrigued, triply annoyed. It’s the same in all crime rings: I’m not being let in.

“I bet it’s porn,” I say as I spear a shrimp with my fork, wanting to mess with Luca. Draw him out. Get a reaction.

He puts his fork down and reaches for his wine, then takes a calculated sip. “And what if it is?” he says softly, but with a chip of ice in his tone.

I should know better, but the conversation is a wiggly tooth I can’t stop fiddling with, relishing the pain. “Is it? Do you feature or do you just fuck on the side, off camera? Once the girls are done, but you’ve been watching, waiting your turn?”

My words drop like bricks. Every insult contained in those few sentences rings in my ears as if I’ve been slapped by my own hand, but it’s too late to back off now.

Luca lolls his head back and laughs, but when he looks at me again, his eyes are starkly cold. I’ve hit a nerve.

“Men like me don’t wait, princess.”

“No. You never do.” I’m in it now. Might as well go all in, wrench the tooth out and bleed. “I bet you pay enough to be first in line.”

I don’t know where this is coming from. Taunting him for a reaction, being reckless with a man I hardly know, on a yacht where anything could happen, the crew on his payroll turning a blind eye. I can almost imagine the iron taste as blood seeps into my mouth from the slap coming my way, but like alcohol, physical pain is just another way of numbing the emptiness in me.

He leans back in his seat, studying me, the silence weighing heavier and heavier with each passing second. Chills spread over me at his lack of response. It’s even worse than him retaliating. I should apologize. I should backtrack. I should ask him to tie me up and whip me for being such a horrible, terrible person.

“And this is what you think of me?”

“I—”

He stands, his height menacing from where I’m seated.

“I bet you think I’ll give you money for the right to fuck you, mia bellissima streghetta, desperate as you are.” He leans in, and I have to lean back to look up at him, trapped. “Pay you for intimacy, as if you’re a whore. An annual performance bonus when you spice things up, keeping me engaged. How much do you have in mind, Milana?”

“I—” I blink, refusing to tear up, but knowing every one of those words is deserved. “I⁠—”

“No more, my darling wife. Let’s stop here before we fuck this up to the point of no return.”

He closes in, and I flinch back, turning my head to avoid the slap heading my way.

But then comes the startling warmth of his touch as he cups my cheek and gently guides me to look at him. My eyes flutter open, but I brace myself. He is leaning toward me, anger flashing in his eyes, but he is in control of every last cell in his body as his fingers slip to my jaw to trace a gentle line over my lips with his thumb. I close my eyes when another slow, sensual sweep over my bottom lip ignites every memory of our wedding kiss. When his thumb parts my lips, I gasp. Pleasure tingles to my breasts, down my spine, hardening my nipples. That he could be this soft, this gentle with me after what I said…

“Look at me, Milana,” he says, his warm breath ghosting along my hairline, his thumb tracing and tugging at my bottom lip, adding fuel to the simmering heat in my belly.

I meet his gaze. He’s studying me, his fingertips caressing me as if I’m the most delicate, precious thing in the world, and I feel the touch echo between my legs.

“This marriage…” he murmurs close, for my ears only, “…might be a transaction, but I’ll say this once, and only once, so listen carefully. Sex between us will never be a transaction. In fact, I rather look forward to you begging for it, wet, wanting, and at my mercy.” He brushes his lips over my temple and presses the tenderest of kisses to my forehead. “Enjoy your dinner. Sleep tight.”

He pulls away and straightens, all warmth gone. I watch how he disappears down the stairs, leaving me rooted in my seat, flustered. Dumbstruck. Taken aback by his control and behavior so contrary to my expectations.

He left me with only the burning echoes of his touch.

Hot. Wet.

Aroused.

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