Page 5 of Brutal Vows

A slap in the face would have been more welcome, less of a disguised insult. But there it is. I haven’t earned my stripes as he did, getting shot twice, Alex dying in his arms. Like Dominic did, scars on his body for life, or like Steph did, scars on the inside where nobody can see them.

I’m the first to drop my gaze. Our strength is in our brotherhood, this bond forged under our devil of a father, which is stronger than even he anticipated. I might not have earned my stripes, but fuck knows, I can’t let my brothers down. I can’t let Matteo down. Not when he asks me for a rather straight-forward sacrifice in the bigger scheme of things. Between him, Dominic, and Alex, while he was still alive, they’ve taken hits for me for years, protective to the core.

We stand in a gridlock for a full thirty seconds as I digest this truth, until Matteo pulls away and falls back into his chair. That’s him conceding. On this standoff, not on the deal. I pick up my whiskey and drink deeply, meeting his gaze over the rim of the glass.

Fuck, this is just marriage, something on a lot of ‘normal’ people’s to-try list. We’re not normal, so love doesn’t factor into the equation. It’s a business deal. I make those all the fucking time.

He drinks too, and after I’ve downed the rest of mine, relishing the burn down my throat, I put the tumbler down with just enough force to tell him I’m still fucking pissed off. “What do we even know of this woman?”

“She’s younger than Petrov, by a good decade.”

“Meaning?” I haven’t even met Petrov. The man is as much an enigma to me as his sister.

Matteo shrugs. “I guess she’s in her mid to late twenties?”

Right. “And?”

“She plays the piano.”

“Like fucking chopsticks or what?”

“No. Like Rachmaninoff.”

“Rach…who?”

“Rachmaninoff.” He picks up his phone and starts swiping. “I’ll send you a link to listen to. And best you start working on your Russian.”

“Yeah. First phrase I’m learning is my older brother is a fucking cunt.” For this, I get a chuckle, and the tension deflates, making me sink back into my chair. “Really, Matty, what does she even look like?”

He makes a don’t-know gesture. “She’s Bratva, not an image to be found out there. In any case, looks aren’t exactly factored into this equation.”

Don’t I know it. She’s as much a pawn as me. Nobody cares if we get along or not. “Do you expect me to sleep with this woman?”

“Not my problem,” he says, not looking up from his phone. “Fucking random women has never been an issue for you, Luca. I don’t see you why you need to develop one in that department once one of them becomes your wife.”

Fuuuuck. That reputation… I’m never going to shed it. Lucky Luca, indeed. Fucking around like I was nothing but a walking erection since fifteen. No wonder I’m having an early midlife crisis—I’ve got the sex-miles of a retired fucking porn star on me, and that at my age.

My phone pings, and I pull it from my pocket. An iTunes link to an album with a random photo of a grand piano on it. Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Opus 18. Milana Petrova and the St. Petersburg Symphony Orchestra.

Great. I literally understand like five words there but two are like neon lights on the cover: Milana Petrova. Now I feel like an uneducated swine.

I tap to play, but Matteo shoots his hand up, something like a screech escaping his lips. “Don’t. Save it for later. For the privacy of your apartment.”

I cock a brow. “Bad?”

“Should have gone to the opera more.”

“Right.” That type of education wasn’t exactly on the Don’s radar. I stand with a sigh, relieved that the tension between me and Matty has eased. I’m not quite ready for my fate yet, but I’ve conceded. I have two days. I head for the door but turn back to face him. I might be taking this hit for our brotherhood, for Il Consiglio, but to be honest, because of Mom, I’ll always put women first. “Understand this, Matteo. I’m doing this for Gabi. To secure her safety. As soon as she’s done, so am I.”

“Sure. Just don’t fuck it up in the interim.”

I scoff. “When have I ever fucked up?” Props always play their role to perfection. Inanimate objects with no lines, no life.

“There’s time,” he says as he stands.

Yeah. And I didn’t plan to be here for it in my mafioso capacity. I planned to be on the road, and then on my yacht, away from all this shit. “No need to walk me out. I know my way.”

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