Page 58 of Brutal Vows

“It’s Mara’s.”

The woman he’s mentioned before but she means nothing to me. I’m too confused at how any of this happened.

“She took ten bullets, so she’s very dead,” Luca says. “And this is what you look like when you have to deal with a bullet-riddled corpse. Especially a fresh one, because heaven forbid Tasha gets home and realizes there’s been another unfortunate incident in their apartment.” He smirks a grimace, bitter. “I’m not sure how Matteo’s going to explain the bullet-chipped tiles or our sister basically being on her deathbed.”

Gabi on her deathbed. I inhale a shaky breath. “Who shot her? And why? In Matteo’s apartment, too?”

He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively back up.

“Mara shot her. Turns out our Italian delegation sold out to some Russians.” Another step. “Russians with tech.” One more step. “Tech that allowed them to slip a gun through all our security checks.”

My back touches the wall as he closes the gap between us. A shudder ripples through me. “Which Russians?”

“Chertnikov. Ring a bell?”

It’s a cold bucket of water in my face. The name that haunts me. The black mold that’s quietly killing us all.

“Chertnikov?” I repeat, stunned.

“You’ve mentioned him before.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m hardly in the loop here. How?”

“I don’t know, princess,” he murmurs, the lightness of his tone barely hiding his leashed fury. He presses me to the wall and parks his hands on either side of my head. “You tell me.”

It’s threatening, but I stand my ground. The last thing I can afford is to underestimate my husband. Like this, he seems unhinged. Dangerous. Deadly. How far can I push him away, keep him at arm’s length and keep my secrets to myself? “I have no clue, Luca. Honestly.”

“And yet, here you are. A knot of secrets begging to be untangled. Every single one of them a clue.”

He stares down at me, and in his cold eyes, I see what he told me about before. This thing that’s in his Mafia blood. The cruel brutality that runs like a curse through his veins. This man is dangerous, and I have no idea what he’s capable of. I shouldn’t push him, but I stare back, because it would be madness to flinch or look away.

His gaze drops first, to my lips, and with a hissed fuck, he pushes away from the wall. “I’m going to shower, and then we’re going to have a chat, Milana.”

He stalks off, and I follow him in a daze. He isn’t paying attention because he walks into my bedroom—the room that used to be his—and starts to strip as he heads to the bathroom.

“Luca.”

“What?” He turns as he pulls his T-shirt over his head with one hand, stomach muscles rippling.

“Nothing,” I say, mouth suddenly dry.

“Like usual, then,” he says, yanking at his belt like it has wronged him. “Here’s the thing that takes the fucking cake, princess. Before Mara got shot, she said something that basically doesn’t bode well for any of us.”

“What?” Do I even want to know?

“Here’s where the plot thickens, because The Mole got away unscathed after hearing everything that went down in Matteo’s apartment, including Mara’s last words.”

“Got away? How?” Another name that means nothing to me, but God, did someone manage to escape this prison? Teach me your ways!

“Don’t be so fucking eager, princess. You’re not going anywhere.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and I want to scream my frustration as he seems to read my mind, always one step ahead in this stupid game we’re playing.

“What did Mara say?” I ask, following, a little voice in my head whispering this is a bad idea, but I need to know.

Luca is at the vanity, shirtless, jeans unzipped and tugged open. “Funny thing,” he says, all light and breezy as if he’s playing at being mystified about something. “Mara’s body was covered with fresh Russian tattoos, as if she did a little detour to the fucking gulag before coming here.”

Gulag? What is he talking about?